The Best Laid Plans
by oryxcrake
Summary: DMHG.. Set after HBP. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off on their quest to finish what Dumbledore started. However, Draco, not having quite seen the error of his ways, feels it neccesary to join them. Everyone is left to deal with things left unsaid.
1. Angst and More Angst

**The Best Laid Plans**

**A/N: I do not now, nor have I ever owned any of these characters. I'm not making any money off of this, sadly, so, you can't sue me. Neener. I do, however, own the plot. There will be a lot of angst, humor, romance, and a range of other emotions abounding in this story. What did you expect? They're 17 and about to fight something akin to a demi-god. Of course they'll find time to snog/shag. And, as always, please review. I don't care if you don't like it. Tell me why and what I need to do better. And by ALL MEANS, tell me if I've let someone slip out of character.**

**Chapter 1: Angst and More Angst**

The heat made sweat inch across the back of Hermione's neck, making her skin crawl. The sensation was reminiscent of ants marching their way down her spine and she did the very best she could to keep the composed expression on her face, and not shudder at the sickening feeling. This summer was going to be the most difficult she had ever gone through. The separation from Harry and Ron, however brief, made her heart ache so much that it was a physical pain. The funeral was still fresh in her mind after weeks, but, thankfully she only had a week left before she would join her very best friends in their joint mission to destroy Voldemorte for once and for all. It gave her some comfort to think of living without that pressing danger, the proverbial Damocles' sword swinging so close to her head. When she was honest with herself, she really didn't know what she'd do if and when Voldemorte no longer posed a threat. Assuming, of course, she lived through the upcoming war.

As Hermione gathered the damp, and still somehow unmanageably frizzy curls into a ponytail, she knew that however hard this summer was for her, it was doubly hard for Harry. He was so alone in this world. It didn't seem fair, and sometimes, she got angry about it for no reason at all. She'd caught herself sniping at her parents more than usual. Her father had taken to just staying out of her way when he caught his daughter with a particular look on her face. Her mother, however, was just as stubborn as her daughter and had told her off on a number of occasions. They always made up in the end. Jane knew how difficult a time her daughter was having, even if she didn't fully understand the complexities of her daughter's life.

Ron, however, was feeling more and more worried with every day. Harry and Hermione weren't owling as often as he would have liked. These were his very best friends, and one of them he had more than friendly feelings for. He knew he was completely transparent, by now. He had cornered Hermione before leaving the train. He could remember the conversation as clearly as if it were being spoken in front of him.

"Hermione. Listen." He remembered the cold knot that twisted his stomach as she steeled himself for possibly the most difficult thing he'd ever done. "I want to tell you that... that we need to date." He could have kicked himself. It wasn't the suave line he'd been working on, but that's what had come out. He felt his forehead, trying to rub the frown out.

"Excuse me?" Hermione had a baffled look on her face, lips pursed. "First of all, Ron, you can't tell me what I need or do not need to do. And second of all, now is not the time to be thinking of romantic flings."

"It wouldn't be a fling, 'Mione. You know it wouldn't." He could barely swallow, even now, just thinking about it. His mouth felt dry and he wondered if he were just imagining it, or had his tongue really swollen to three times it's normal size? "We're supposed to be together."

"So, it's duty, is it? No, Ron. Not now. I don't want to discuss this." She sighed heavily, shook her hair out of her face, and with one last, somewhat softened, glance back at him, walked off the train. She left him standing there, staring at her retreating back and long, brown, very familiar hair. He wondered if all heartbreak was actual, physical pain.

It gave him hope, somehow. He was going to prove that he was the one for her. And if he'd managed to escape that ridiculously callous, in his opinion, rejection, he could survive anything. Not that he actually wanted to go through it again, of course, but he would do it as many times as she needed until he changed her mind.

Harry, on the other hand, spent most of his days sleeping. His nights were riddled with worrisome dreams and night sweats. For some reason, he found that by sleeping during the day, he dreamed very little. And he saw equally little of, and I use the term loosely, family.

He thought often of his friends, and even more often of Ginny. He could still smell her perfume on his school robes. He looked at the framed picture sitting on his table. Ginny happily kissed his cheek and waved cheerily up at him while he watched himself gaze completely unabashedly at Ginny. He never realized the way he watched her until he really looked a that photograph. He remembered the day very clearly. It had been a good day. Completely uneventful, save Ron and Hermione were being nicer than usual together. They'd all gone to Hogsmeade and had been all too happy to forget, for one afternoon, all the things around them that meant they most likely would not all be able to do this when they were in their thirties. The odds were that one, if not more, would die fighting a battle that Harry considered his and his alone.

Friends were good like that, though, he had discovered. If they sensed you weren't letting them in on something, they found a way to find out and help. Whether or not you actually wanted help. He had a feeling Ginny wouldn't sit back for long. She had too much of a spark in her to do that. Oh, she had understood when he told her that they couldn't be together. She had seen the heartbreak in his eyes. Damn it. Harry felt the tell-tale sting in his nose and the unpleasant tingly feeling behind his eyes and bit back tears. He had never been very good at hiding emotions. They were always just under the surface, surging forward and back like the tide. It was all he could do to control them. The moon shone dimly through his window and he turned his eyes to that instead of the picture that mocked him from a few feet away. He missed seeing a smaller reflection of himself pick Ginny's diminutive reflection up by the waist and swing her around, her red hair a blaze of color against the dark wood of the Three Broomsticks.

He just had to keep reminding himself that there were now only a few days to go until they met at Number 12, Grimmauld place before they left for Godric's Hollow.

Meanwhile, exceptionally far away from Harry, Hermione, and Ron's thoughts, Draco felt himself begin to lose what little shred of sanity he tenuously clung to. The walls of the Slytherin common room were closing in on him. The sleek, black furniture seemed to pulsate and writhe as he watched it, the shadows from the firelight giving them an almost anthropomorphic way of mocking his thoughts. The look in Dumbledore's eyes, the way he spoke to him. The sound of his voice echoed in his ears. He felt like vomiting. His head pounded from lack of sleep and food, and he was sure he'd die of shame if anyone saw him. His hair was unkempt, he had dark circles lending his eyes a hollow look, and his robes were wrinkled. To shield himself from the attitude of the furniture, he let his head fall into his hands, shutting his eyes in hopes it would block out everything. It didn't work.

He'd known for a long time that the so called Dark Lord was preposterous. I mean, honestly, there were so many flaws with it. For one, they were supposed to hate anyone who was not 'pure', but their leader, the figurehead of the revolution, wasn't 'pure'. Then there was the fact that if you were to keep blood pure, it would resolve into incest, and Draco really, really, really didn't want to touch that. He knew his cousin. He also knew that she had a large mole with three hairs that grew from the side of her neck. He felt like vomiting again.

He had done it, seeking approval from his father. He'd never had love, barely knew what it meant, but approval? He could understand that. He understood what his surname stood for. He understood what was expected of him. And he'd failed in even doing that. But for the sake of Merlin, he was only seventeen! How could he have been expected to ignore every piece of logic and follow blindly? Malfoys didn't do that! They had people follow _them_ blindly. And if they eradicated all of the lowly, who would they eventually rule? No one. That's who. None of it made any sense.

So, he had been about to switch sides, had been about to lower his wand and move Dumbledore, the old dottering fool, somewhere more safe, when that damnable streak of green snuffed him out like so much flame on a candle wick. He was disgusted with himself. Disgusted that he couldn't be what he was supposed to be. He was disgusted that he hadn't been able to save Dumbledore. He was disgusted that he was here, at Hogwarts, being sheltered by Minerva McGonagall when he should have been anywhere else.

He was alone. Terribly, undeniably, irreparably alone. He felt as cold as ice, even as the heat from the fireplace washed over him. He had fled, as fast and as discreetly as he could, telling people he had another mission from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They believed him because he was trailed at Occlumency, thanks to Snape, his once trusted mentor turned possible (and more likely probable) future murderer.

The new Headmistress had been suspicious, of course, but he'd proven trustworthy in the end. He'd sealed his fate with the Unbreakable Vow. He had been given shelter from the storm raging outside, but the storm that crashed inside him was still thirsty for his blood and his sanity.

He lifted his head, eyes glassy with unshed tears and from somewhere deep inside him, an almost animalistic howl of rage and frustration ripped out of him. He did not sob. He still had too much dignity for that, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't stem the flow of hot, treacherous tears that coursed over his cheeks. He lay on the black couch, back to the fire and covered his face in shame as he let the fear, the disgust, the shame, the loneliness pour out of him.


	2. When Draco Imagines Seducing McGonagall

**Chapter 2**

**Number 12 Grimmauld Place or When Draco Imagines Seducing McGonagall**

The day had come for Harry to leave, finally. There was a breeze, signaling the quickly approaching fall. School should be starting soon, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione would not be attending. The sadness he felt at that was nothing but fuel to his determination to finish this. He didn't care what happened to himself, not really. He cared what happened to him for the sake of other people, and mainly Ginny. If he were to become a ghost, he knew that he would wish he were anywhere but on earth. Ginny had a way of making you regret your mistakes. There was no one who was scarier when angry. Except, maybe, Mrs. Weasley. Harry thought it might just be genetic.

Nymphadora Tonks was waiting downstairs for him. It was midnight, and therefore, easier on the Dursleys. Not that anyone much cared about their mental anxiety at seeing a purple-haired, kitty-cat eared witch come to take Harry away. It was more like they just didn't want to have to be in contact with the terrible, pathetic excuse of a family that Harry was left to deal with. He knew that if his Mum and Dad were alive to see how he was treated, Petunia and Vernon would have a lot more dangerous things to handle than the impending doom of a rising Voldemorte. Like an angry mother. And anyone, _anyone_, who's ever seen an angry mother knows that they are forces not to be reckoned with.

Tonks had been in a much perkier mood since Remus had finally relented. He knew for ages that he had loved her, and had only wanted to protect her. However, love did crazy things, especially in times where it was threatened. However, love was a stubborn thing, and no matter how hard someone tried to eradicate it, it grew. Like a weed, thought Harry. Love was a pesky, tricky condition, and one he was still baffled at. He knew he was in love with Ginny, knew he wanted no other, and truthfully, it scared the absolute shit out of him. To be so young and to know so surely was terrifying enough. To know he couldn't be with her only added to the pain and confusion. Harry stubbornly pushed those thoughts from his mind and tried to look as cheerful as possible as he greeted her.

"Hiya, Tonks." He smiled wanly.

"Wotcher, Harry. You okay?" She bobbed her head, electric purple hair cut short and with very definite edges around her jaw line. Harry thought it was almost sinful to be as perky as she was. He was glad, however, to see that happiness could and did still exist.

Not as far away as Harry, Hermione, and Ron thought, was Draco Malfoy, striding purposefully down a long corridor, towards a flight of stairs which he took two at time. He wasn't even out of breath after the fourth set. A student got used to the physical demands of multiple stairwells to go anywhere needed, and especially Slytherin students. Stairs were an essential part of their day-to-day life.

He stood in front of a familiar Gargoyle, frowning at it. He'd developed a plan thus far, but had forgotten to include a minor detail. Reaching the Headmistress wasn't going to be as easy as shouting some inane sweet at the motionless slab of stone. No, McGonagall's password would be tricky. Very tricky. So, he crossed his arms, glaring at the gargoyle, as though if he won a staring contest with stone he'd be granted entrance.

When it suddenly jumped to life in front of him, groaning marginally, he threw a hand to his chest, breath hitching. Headmistress McGonagall stepped out, just as purposefully as Draco had not twenty minutes before. He hurriedly composed himself, brows knitting into an expression somewhere between genuine concern and determination.

Minerva looked up, her face mildly surprised, "Mister Malfoy… something I can do for you?" She cocked her head. Some would say it was an expression of curiosity. Draco would say it was the same move a vulture would make before choosing the juiciest piece of carrion and possessing it.

"Yes. In fact there is, Headmistress." He was careful to address her respectfully. No one got anywhere without a little brown-nosing. Draco also knew that he could charm his way out of most situations. "I want to join the Order. I want to join the search for the Horcruxes. I want to have a hand in defeating…" his voice grew disgusted, "_him." _

_"_Admirable as that might be, Mister Malfoy, you'll need to speak to Harry about the search for the Horcruxes. However, seeing as you've given then Unbreakable Vow, I don't see why you shouldn't be allowed to join the Order. You may well have information and insights useful." She looked at him carefully, scrutinizing him. Albus might have been trusting, but she trusted only when trust had been earned. Draco Malfoy had taken the first few steps to gaining her trust, but he was far from there yet. They both knew where they stood with each other.

"I have to speak with Potter?" Draco's brows knit further, eyes growing far-away and contemplative. It was a moment before he made any further noise, and even then it was a deep sigh. "Bloody hell, I can't believe I'm going to do this…" he muttered under his breath. "Where do I find him?"

"Language, Mister Malfoy.. And I'm actually leaving to meet with the Order at the moment. You realize, of course, that the decision doesn't lay strictly with myself, correct? The other members have to agree to your joining, as well. Or, at the very least, it should be the majority agreeing." She returned to walking purposefully. "If you'd like to come and speak to Harry, you may follow me."

Draco pursed his lips, feeling uneasy at following McGonagall into something he considered as dangerous as a lion's den. A lion's den that contained a family of lions. A lion's den containing a family of hungry… no… correct that, _starving_ lions. Who happened to have a particular taste for very white meat. However, follow her he did, his long legs easily closing the gap between them and staying the pace.

They stopped walking far from the Hogwarts grounds. Neither one had spoken again, each very obviously lost in his or her own thoughts. That, and Draco knew that attempting to make small talk with Minerva McGonagall would be pointless. He might as well attempt to get into her knickers. However, he wasn't really paying attention to his outward demeanor when a very uninvited mental image of him attempting to seduce his old professor turned Headmistress invaded his mind. He actually made a "Yuck!" face, briefly.

He hadn't been paying as close attention as he'd meant to on their thought-filled journey to Place-X, currently outside of the known grounds of Hogwarts, and so he merely found himself in a strange place accompanied by a very powerful witch with a known distrust of him. He marveled at the situations he repeatedly managed to get himself into. Hell, even if he managed to get out of this without wounded body or pride, he'd still have to practice what was the equivalent of pride (if not suicide, then) self-mutilation when he asked to join Potter and, no doubt, the rest of the Golden Trio on their search.

Draco reminded himself that it was _for _his pride and sanity that he was joining this search. He had failed at almost everything else he'd set himself to do, and this he vowed not to fail in. If it killed him, he would be doing it for his own agenda, for his own reasons, and it was what he believed he should be doing.

He looked up when he realized he hadn't been listening to the wizened woman instructing him. At his quizzical look, she explained in a slightly more exasperated tone, that he should place a finger on what appeared to be a rusted, crushed, and very abused tin can. Draco wrinkled his nose at it, but touched a fingertip to it regretfully. Minerva counted down from three and before the whole syllable of one got out, the unpleasant feeling port keys always gave him had grabbed him by the shirt collars, so to speak, and had him firmly in it's grasp.

When he felt firmament beneath him, he opened his eyes that he hadn't realized he'd closed and looked around. There was nothing to be seen, really, until McGonagall conjured up a piece of paper out of thin air, plucked it before it fell and shoved it at him.

"12 Grimmauld Place." it read. Draco looked askance at the piece of paper. Of course it would unplotable, wouldn't it? He looked up from the piece of paper that evaporated into a thin grey ash between his forefinger and thumb to see the residence it named. Distastefully rubbing thumb and finger together, he followed McGonagall to the door and inside the house.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting as comfortably as possible in the kitchen, drinking steaming cups of tea. Their manner, while comfortably quiet, said much more to one another than they could have with words. Occasionally, they exchanged glances, but nothing was really said. Until, of course, Remus stepped in, announcing the arrival of the Headmistress and a visitor. His voice was strained, shoulders taught and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets.

"…A visitor? Wh-?" before Harry could finish his question, McGonagall stepped in through the open doorway, rubbing her left temple. Draco followed, looking impassive. That certainly answered his question.

"Bloody hell, what's _he_ doing here? Did you capture him?" he paused for breath, "Can we torture him?" Ron's expression went from outraged to child-like glee in an instant.

"He's here upon his request. He'd like to petition the existing members of the Order of the Phoenix to allow him to join. And he has a particular inquiry for you, Harry." She'd dropped the surname sometime after the funeral. In her heart, he'd always just been Harry, however she wouldn't allow herself to be anything but impartial while teaching. She was a Headmistress, and if she were acting in that capacity, he'd be Mister Potter. However, tonight, she came as neither one and so, allowed herself to call him Harry.

"What the _hell_ do you think you can ask me for?" Harry had looked back down into his cup, his body as taught as a bow string. Hermione still hadn't said anything, but sat with her saucer-wide eyes, observing the situation as calmly as was possible. She knew her best friends, and she knew that Harry looked very dangerous right now. Her hands clenched the dainty white cup so hard that her fingertips were white.

"Well? Do you have an answer?" Slowly, he looked up, eyes blazing with anger, disgust, mistrust and a myriad of other not-so-pleasant emotions. Murderous, thought Hermione. He looks murderous. She shivered slightly.

Draco hadn't said anything, and in fact, was gathering his thoughts. He stood a bit straighter, chin thrust out in either a sign of self-confidence, however false, or of rebellion. "I've _come_, Potter, to ask if I can help you search. For the Horcruxes, I mean. I might have some information that would be valuable to you."

Harry stood up so fast that his chair flipped noisily on it's side. "Get out." he said through gritted teeth, pointing the way he'd come.

The room was unearthly quiet, no one daring to make a sound or move as the confrontation unfurled. Even Ron held his peace, swallowing roughly over his Adam's apple. "Get _out_. NOW!"

"No." Draco defiantly took another step into the room, his heart hammering in his chest. He showed no fear, showed no sign of backing down. "No, I've come to help you, and I _can_ help you. I want to end this damnable war as much as you do, if for my own reasons. We're…" he faltered, feeling ashamed of himself, "We're on the same side, you dolt." He felt he finished a bit lamely, but it was the best his feverish mind could come up with on such short notice. He'd thought the Noble Hero of the Wizarding World would welcome him, as long as he was sincere. Apparently, the news clippings were wrong. Harry Potter was human, and therefore, susceptible to such things as anger and fear and pain. Hunh. Who knew?

Harry lowered his hand, but didn't take his eyes off him for the longest moment of Draco's life. He felt tiny, felt worthless under Harry's gaze. Those were things he was not accustomed to feeling, things he loathed to feel. Still, he stood strong, unmoving. Harry's eyes shifted momentarily to McGonagall. "How can we trust him?"

"He gave an Unbreakable Vow. He understands what it means, knows the consequences. I don't like it anymore than you do, Harry, but it's possible he may have information that would help us." She wasn't being impartial. She wasn't being objective. She didn't have to be. Here, she was simply Minerva, one of the few fighting for good. It was a feeling of constrained liberation that she enjoyed, guiltily.

"You honestly think we can trust him?" Harry let his eyes move to her, the tension still very visible in him and palpable in the room. Hermione having not realizing she was holding her breath let it out in a "_whoosh"_, breaking the pause. Ron laughed weakly and she glared, shaking her head as she gasped for air as quietly as possible.

"Honestly? No. Not yet. But he has no choice as to whether or not he holds up his end of the bargain. It's my opinion that he should be allowed to join the Order, and I think you should seriously consider allowing him to come with you to search for the Horcruxes. Partly, because his information may be helpful. Partly, to keep an eye on him." Minerva answered candidly.

Draco whipped his head toward her, frowning disapproval, "Excuse me, but I _am_ standing in the room. This is all very rude, in my opinion."

"Well, in my opinion, you furry-faced, poncey-arsed , little-" A sharp smack to the back of Ron's head cut him off.

"Ron." Hermione said his name, tone edged with warning. Obviously, she'd just told him to shut up without having to actually tell him that. Draco noted it for later. If smacking the little hot-head would get him to stop, he'd have to remember it.

Harry's eyes slowly moved to Draco, regarding him momentarily, face inscrutable. Slowly, he turned, righted his chair and sat without speaking. He removed his glasses, sat them on the table as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We'll discuss you joining with the rest of the Order. I suppose," the words seemed dragged from inside him. Draco could see the wear that constant anxiety was having on him. Bloody hell, he hoped he didn't look that bad. "you can join us," he spread his hand, indicating Ron and Hermione.

Ron spluttered, but shut his mouth, fuming when another of Hermione's withering looks was shot his way along with a very discreet head-shake. Draco found this all rather amusing. If there were going to be more abusing of the Weasel, he'd at least be entertained. He supposed Granger could be given some credit if she kept hitting Weasley. Draco found himself smirking and covered it leisurely.

Minerva watched this all, feeling the throbbing in her temple multiply. This was going to be a very, very long year.

A/N: To IndulgentWriter, thank you so much for your glowing review and I hope the next day was soon enough for you. Truthfully, I was having an issue with this chapter, and your encouragement helped me finish it at 3:24am.

Also, the progression of DM/HG will be slow, which is the only natural way to get them together. Already, there are inklings of things to come stirring in our favorite blond's head. Poor Harry, though. I keep trying to make things better, but he just demands to be written angst..il..y.. That's right. I said it. Angstily. As always, read and review. Keep 'em comin', kids. Good, bad, or ugly: I wanna know.


	3. Let's Play Name That Smell

**Chapter 3**

**The Order of the Phoenix Meets or Let's Play Name That Smell**

**A/N: I can't thank you guys enough for reviewing, you know who you are. While I haven't actually published anything other than these first two (now three) chapters and the beginning of another fic, I've actually been writing this in my head for ages. Also, I'm looking for a beta. If there's anyone who's up for the job, please contact me. BTW, guys, the M rating is for later chapters. Things will eventually get steamy. I have three scenes in my head that are positively begging to be written. I'll get them out as soon as is natural for the progression of Draco and Hermione. Without further ado, Chapter 3.**

The meeting with the Order of the Phoenix was a preliminary one, to discuss old business. It was almost a review, a re-acquaintance meeting. Of course, there was the unexpected task of deciding whether or not yet another former Death Eater should be allowed to join their ranks. There were choruses of 'Absolutely not!' and 'Over my dead body.' around the room. Draco Malfoy stood his ground, feeling a vague sense of déjà vu. Why was everyone in the Order so very Gryffindor? Didn't they know it would do them some good to have a little Slytherin in them? He almost laughed at the perverted comment in his head, but kept himself composed with little difficulty.

Surprisingly, it was Harry Potter who spoke out for him first. "I know how you feel. You think I don't? I was there, too. In fact, I was there when it happened." No one was unclear on what 'it', was. Everyone knew that he spoke of Dumbledore's murder. They all watched him move across the room, standing just ahead of Draco Malfoy and to the side, so he was still visible. "But I have never, ever known McGonagall to mislead us. He's given the Unbreakable Vow." He held the room captive with his speech, slow and even.

What surprised Draco next, was that Granger stood up and walked to stand on his other side. "He's intelligent. We all know that. He's got inside information. He's seen things we haven't." She took a deep breath, looking at the tall blond out of the corner of her eye, "Not to mention, if we don't trust him entirely, shouldn't we make sure that he's where we can keep an eye on him?" Draco frowned, the compliments that buoyed him momentarily forgotten by the harshness of her last statement. He supposed he deserved it. If he were in their places he wouldn't trust him, either. Then again, he wouldn't be as devilishly handsome or charming.

He used this brief pause to interrupt the slow leak of murmuring that was beginning to fill the room. "I have no doubts that you don't trust me, and for good reason. It's understandable." He spread his hands, long aristocratic fingers splayed. He took a step forward to stand between Hermione and Harry, his arm brushing Hermione's momentarily. "I have my own reasons for wanting to end this war, but the fact remains that I want it ended just as badly as you do. I'll prove it, if I'm only given the chance."

Hermione had to admire his persistence, his strength under pressure, and the smooth charm he possessed. It seemed genuine, but she couldn't shake the uncomfortable tightening sensation in her stomach at his close proximity. She didn't budge though., her brown eyes watching him openly. Ron watched his two best friends stand up there and implore on Malfoy's behalf. It was sickening. Even Hermione wanted the traitor to join. Ron seethed quietly.

The three stood in front of a room of adults. Harry's face was lighted with passion again, and it gave him a fierce, authoritative look. There was no trace of the boy that Ron met six years ago in the face of the man that was his best mate. Hermione stood with grace and composure, her shoulders high and eyes bright. She had turned into a beautiful woman. Her hair was still long and unruly, she was still incredibly confident, but had managed to grow into someone much less uptight. Hermione had figured out how to temper the arrogance out of her confidence, and Ron loved that about her. But, oh she could be stubborn! As much as it infuriated him, he loved that about her, too.

Ron took her in quietly, from a chair in the middle of the room. She was still short, but her presence was much larger than she was, herself. She was slender, but wasn't anything resembling a stick. She had curves in all the right places and Ron didn't mind to help himself at the view he had, his anger forgotten for the moment. That was, until, he caught her looking repeatedly over at Draco Malfoy, an inscrutable expression on her face.

He resolved to save that argument for later.

It was eventually agreed, though no unanimously, that Draco could join the Order, if for no other reason than his information and the ability to watch him more closely. Molly had made food, of course, and they adjurned to the kitchen to eat and talk of things that were less unpleasant. Hermione was one of the last to leave.

She was just about to walk through the door when Ron caught her wrist, but gently. "We need to talk. Now."

She sighed heavily, looking up at him with tired eyes, "What is it, Ron? What is it that I've supposed to have done, now?"

The look on her face, the fatigue and… something else he couldn't quite place caught him off guard. It took him a moment to remember why he was mad. "Why did you defend him? Why do you want him to join us? He's _evil_."

"Ron, I'll be the first to admit that he's not a saint. But if you remember correctly, we all make mistakes. I'm just hoping he's trying to make things right. And even if he's not, there are going to be so many people watching him all the time, he'll never have a chance to do anything." She paused, licking her lips, "Is that all you wanted to ask?"

"Well, no.. do you know what day it is?" Ron had had this planned for hours. It had taken him days to think this up.

She was, justifiably, confused. "Yes, Ron, it's Thursday."

"Alright, then, I love you. Date me?" Yes. Success. Just as he'd planned it.

"Pardon?" Was Hermione's only response. She wasn't used to being thrown so forcefully in a conversation.

"It's Thursday. I love you, date me."

"No. I'm hungry." With that, she wriggled her hand free of his hand and walked to the kitchen. He watched her go, smiling. He expected a 'no', this time. But every Thursday from now on, he'd remind her that he loved her. She'd eventually see that he was always going to be here for her, and she would relent to agreeing to be his. Ron knew Hermione loved him.

Hermione did not, in fact, love Ron. She had had a powerful crush on him for years, but it had waned over time. He was sweet, but she'd come to see him as something like a very large Great Dane puppy. He was wild, difficult to train, and stubborn. Far too much like herself for her to ever be able to have a real relationship with. They bickered constantly, anyway, and she knew it would be worse if they were ever to date. On top of all that, she found herself rewinding the last hour or so, to when she stood next to Draco Malfoy.

He was as polished as ever, taller than what she remembered him. Of course, her most powerful memories of him were in Potion's class and he was sitting. Her memories centered there because he was her only real competition in Potions. But that wasn't what bothered her. It was what came out of her mouth when she stood next to him, and to Harry. Hermione hadn't really been fully aware of her opinion on Draco Malfoy, but she had when she'd heard it come out of her mouth. Alright, she conceded, everyone knew he was intelligent. He rivaled her for grades. He'd been given favortism, it's true, but that didn't make him any less intelligent.

He was charming. Slytherins could be when they attempted, it was part of being opportunistic, of being sneaky. So Draco Malfoy was charming, so what? So was Hitler. Hermione felt she could deal with his charm, but what she hadn't been prepared to deal with was the way he looked. Something had changed in his face, in his eyes. He seemed more human. In fact, she knew where she'd seen that look before. In Harry's face. She felt her heart go out to him a little as she helped herself to a sandwich.

It was more than that, too. It was the way he smelled. Clean and masculine. Different from Harry and Ron, who both smelled clean and masculine. They smelled of outside and Quidditch pitch grass and soap. Draco Malfoy smelled peppery, or perhaps spicy. Maybe he wore cologne. She tried to place it while she chewed thoughtfully, ignoring the flow of conversation around her. He smelled soapy, too, but in a different way. Different, she concluded, was the only proper way to describe it.

"'Mione, hello? Earth to 'Mione.." She started as a hand waved in front of her face and she almost choked on her bite of sandwich.

"What? What?" Hermione was irritated at herself, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as she looked at Harry, his face questioning. She frowned, feeling guilty at her thoughts. _I shouldn't feel guilty, I was only thinking, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with thinking. _

"Just wanted to know if you wanted any dessert, that's all." Harry spoke slowly, confused at her reaction. He leaned over, whispering, "Did you and Ron row?"

Hermione looked over at Ron, who was talking with a mouthful of food to his brother, Fred, about something they'd just invented, looking rather happy.

"Er… no. Not really." She was truthful.

"He told me about the train." Harry was equally as truthful, his eyes locked on hers. He knew how to read his friends like no other, and she felt like he could see straight into her head. Where she was keeping very private thoughts.

She looked away. "We didn't row. He's just.. Very persistant." She lifted her sandwich and took another bite.

"Mm. Well, if you need to talk, then, you know you can find me." He turned away, leaving Hermione to her confused thoughts as he found Ginny leaning against the sink, talking to a tall woman with long, dark hair. Hermione just caught the expression she'd grown to call the 'I-just-saw-her" face and smirked at her sandwich as Harry made a bee-line for Ginny. He was stupidly in love and this seperation wasn't going to last. Hermione was certain that Harry was the only one who didn't know.

Draco Malfoy was regarding Granger calmly, as he ate in much the same fashion as she was. His thoughts were leading him down a disturbing path, but one that he couldn't tear himself away from. It was like a splinching accident. It made your stomach turn to look at it, but you couldn't force yourself to look away if you had to. She had praised him, and her voice was sincere. It wasn't often he heard things like that, not that were genuine, anyway. She was strong, he knew. Otherwise, she'd never have been able to put up with Dolt no. 1 and Dolt no. 2. Although, he admitted regretfully, he supposed he owed something to Dolt no. 1, but he'd never say it out loud.

No, he'd rather contemplate Granger at the moment. She seemed confused and tired, looking at her sandwich as if it held all the answers in the world. He wondered what she had gone through, how she had changed. Other than having grown up, because that was obvious. You'd have to be blind not to notice her slimmed face and delicate body. He knew, however, that she was far from delicate. Dangerous, was more like, and he felt himself intrigued. She was beautiful, intelligent, and dangerous. A combination that he rarely found, but had always been fascinated by. Not to mention that she smelled divine. Soft and flowery, but not of perfume.

He'd been with a few girls in his time, mostly Pansy, who wore a heavy, musky scent that always made him sneeze. Hermione was different. He'd been with beautiful women, intelligent women, and certainly, he'd been with dangerous women. But never at once.. Unless you counted that time when he'd had too much Firewhiskey…but, obviously, that's not what he'd meant.

The food was good, surprising him again. It wasn't gourmet, but it had a homey touch that he'd always privately wanted. He wasn't listening to the conversations around him, but he enjoyed the happy murmur that filled the room. There was the occasional laugh and happy, excited talking from a tall red head, he assumed was one of the Weasley brood. He had a long pony tail and an earring. He seemed to be chatting about a trip and something to do with honey. Before long, his attention moved to the most annoying Weasley, Ron, who was talking animatedly with Potter with his mouth full of food. Disgusting. Didn't he have manners?

Slowly, Granger took his attention once more. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared at her empty plate, biting her bottom lip. She was beautiful, he thought again. And there was nothing wrong with admiring beauty. After all, he thought unicorns were beautiful, but that didn't imply that he had any other feelings for them. Not that any of that mattered. Suddenly and very violently, he grew irritated at himself for no reason he could place. He pushed his plate away, ran a long-fingered hand through his loose blond hair and stood up in one fluid motion.

He took a deep breath, forced his face into something less irritated and walked over to Molly Weasley who was saying something to… bloody Merlin, was that a Veela? He didn't feel like he wanted to do anything stupid, as of yet, so she wasn't entirely Veela. He shook himself mentally and tapped the short, very stout woman on the shoulder.

Molly turned around and her happy expression wilted, just a little.

"I just wanted to say.. Thank you. The food was wonderful." He smiled slightly, looking for all the world as if he were just trying to get on her good side. In fact, he was. Ron had stopped talking mid-sentence and watched as the evil one approached his mum. He'd breaks his kneecaps in his sleep if he said anything to upset her. He said something, then smiled, and felt his mouth drop open as his mum beamed up at him. She spoke quite pleasantly to Malfoy as she patted his arm.

Ron watched Malfoy nod his head a bit, appeared to ask to be excused (he'd been given a room to stay in for the time being, much to his very verbal disapproval), and walked from the room. Hermione's eyes followed him unconsciously. Ron did not notice this. Harry, however, did, but attributed it to her mistrust of the blond and thought nothing of it. Hermione simply felt confused and tired and soon excused herself to go to sleep. They would be drawing up the plans to begin the search tomorrow. Tonight had been exhausting.

As she ascended the stairs, she felt herself grow angrier and angrier with Ron. Who did he think he was? He could not simply go about saying he loved her and demanding she date him! It was barbaric! Why didn't he just grab her by the hair and pull her into some cave somewhere? "Arrgh!" She smacked the door frame. Then viciously kicked it, yelping as her toes cried out in pain.

She was hopping on the spot, her toes in her hands when she was caught.

"This a new dance I haven't learned, Granger?" From across the hall, Draco lounged against the doorframe. His room was directly across from hers. Splendid. Just splendid.

He caught her off guard, yet again, and she toppled sideways, scrambling to get back up in a dignified fashion. She stopped cold when a pale hand was extended to her. She eyed it warily, then the owner's face, just as warily.

"Truce, Granger. Same side, remember?" He wiggled his fingers invitingly. Hermione took it and hauled herself up, fuming that she couldn't manage to get up gracefully for once.

"Thanks." She said, grudgingly. "Thought you'd be afraid I'd get you dirty." There was still a sore spot from years of torment, regardless of the truce.

"It's pure bullshit." He shrugged. "I knew it. I mostly just liked to get a rise out of you. You're entertaining when you're angry." He'd taken his place at his doorway again, arms crossed over his chest.

"Am I?" She placed her hands on her hips. Tonight was not the night to mess with Hermione.

"Yes.. I've never seen anyone else do that little jig when they're angry." He smirked lazily, but not unkindly. Yes, this was a very different Draco Malfoy. And it was disconcerting.

"I'll have you know, I wasn't hopping about because I was angry.. I just.." she paused, her arms falling to her sides, "Stubbed my toe." She couldn't say she was so angry she kicked an inanimate object. Hermione prided herself on rarely losing her temper.

"Looked like you viciously attacked that door frame, from here. Looked a bit shifty, did it? I'm sure it won't bother you again, Granger." He turned to go to his room, calling over his shoulder, " Good night."

Yes, indeed, he was different. And yes, Hermione Granger was confused. She was angry and she couldn't find an answer to this problem in books. Books didn't offer advice, but she knew something that did. Girls. She closed the door behind her and got undressed and ready for bed, resolving to speak with Ginny the very next day.


	4. You Put Your Left Foot In

**Chapter 4**

**Boys Gossip Just As Much As Girls or You Put Your Left Foot In**

**A/N: Thank you all, you wonderful, wonderful reviewers! All six of you. And the three people who put me on alert? Absolutely made my day. I'm so glad you all are enjoying it. And don't worry, LunarChick, I'll keep the changes very subtle. Our favorite blond won't change much, he **_**is**_** still Draco Malfoy, after all, the suavest prick in existance. Now, the real fun starts. Read on, my little friends, read on. **

The sun was bright and hot as it wiggled it's way in under a crack below the shade and somehow, found itself in the most irritating position: Right across Draco Malfoy's eyelids. He groaned, rolled over and threw his pillow over his head, curling up into a little ball. It was early and he'd had fitful sleep at best. After he'd left the hallway, he lay on the big bed that was so similar to the one in the Manor. It made him cringe, and sleep come slowly. When it did come, it was filled with nightmares and confusing clips of him, chasing Hermione around a table, trying to kiss her and her screaming, flailing her arms over her head, trying to get away. Nightmares, indeed. He grimaced. His door shuddered.

"Good morning, rise and shine. Breakfast is waiting!" Chirruped Molly Weasley outside his door. He groaned again, louder this time, and Molly, having had six boys, knew that was confirmation enough to go back downstairs.

Draco grumbled as he got out of bed, eyes still not open. He was _not_ a morning person. How could she be so happy at this early? It shouldn't be legal. He looked at his shoes, trying to figure out if he actually wanted to bother with putting them on, and decided he'd better. He sighed, burying both hands in his hair and stretching as he stood. He brushed his hair and teeth, washed his face and went downstairs. It was going to be a very long, very difficult day. He'd have to be on his best behavior... but it was _Potter_. It was _Weasley_. They were the easiest targets of all time.

The smell of bacon wafted to him half way down the stairs. Oh, it smelled good. His stomach rumbled demandingly and he remembered he didn't eat much last night. He took the last stairs two at a time, and walked into the kitchen.

He still looked rumpled from sleep, but it was nothing to what he saw crowded around the table. Weasley had his head on the table, snoring softly, his food untouched. Harry was staring at his plate with a blank look and Granger.. well, Granger looked normal, if a bit irritated. Perhaps she liked mornings as much a he did. He was unsurprised to see her eating while reading a very thick, antiquated book.

He took his place, and a large plate of steaming bacon, sausage, biscuits and eggs was sat in front of him. He ate hungrily, but always with the most refined manners, thanking Mrs. Weasley again. He truly enjoyed the food, but that wasn't the reason he thanked her. He knew that she held a position of authority in the Order. She could be a frightening woman, he'd heard. Getting in good with a person of power was always in someone's best interests. Also, it had the pleasant effect of pissing Weasley off.

At his polite comment to Molly, and her laughing off the compliment, Ron woke, frowning at Malfoy. "See? Someone likes my cooking." She threw a pointed look at Ron.

Ron glowered at Malfoy. Malfoy smirked back. Harry was still staring blankly at his food, as though trying to identify every ingredient by sight alone before eating. Granger sighed, closed her book with a dull _"thud!"_ and got some more orange juice. At that moment, Ginny flounced down the stairs, humming to herself.

" 'Morning!" She happily sat down, pulled some food toward her, and ate. This seemed to snap Harry out of his daze and he took a bite, nodding his 'good morning' back to her. Hermione looked up, smiling for the first time this morning. " Good morning, Ginny." Ginny gave her a strange look and Hermione lifted her chin a bit. Apparantly, there was a conversation going on without words. Draco _hated_ silent girl talk. Ginny raised her eyebrows a bit, and Hermione nodded. Ginny nodded back and went back to eating. Hermione excused herself from the table.

Draco assumed it was genetic. If you were both female and a Weasley, you must be a morning person. Unnatural, in his opinion. He leaned back in his chair, watching as Ginny babbled to Harry about something. Ron was still glaring at Malfoy, but in a much less threatening way. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again.

Apparantly, no one had gotten much sleep last night. The Order was due to meet again this evening, Molly informed them, before scurrying off to do... whatever it was that she did.

"Potter.." Draco took a moment to interrupt the flow of conversation about the Holyhead Harpies, apparantly Ginny's team.

"Yes?" Harry turned to look at him, his voice civil, but lacking the warmth he spoke to everyone else with.

"... Do you know what the other horcruxes are?" Draco tilted his head, having thought very hard about this very thing last night.

"I have a few ideas. One, I do know, and it's been taken." He adopted a strange voice, one that sounded oddly like a proffessor. No.. oddly like Severus Snape's intonation. "R.A.B. were the initials left on the note. I'll fill you in on that later, once everyone's...er.." He glanced to Ron, "Awake. The horcrux itself is a locket."

"Ah." Draco nodded, knowing both he and Potter were attempting to keep things as civil, as cordial as possible. They both had the same ends, just different reasons for wanting to get there. "Where are we starting the search? Any ideas?"

"Godric's Hollow." Potter frowned, looking back to Ginny and effectively ending the conversation.

Draco thought that was an odd place to start. A semi-affluent neighborhood at one time, it had fallen into disrepair, so he'd heard his parents say. One of their friends had quite a gambling habit and lost most of his money. He had to sell everything he owned and move into a small house on Godric's Hollow. He had become the butt of many jokes during cocktails at Malfoy Manor.

He quietly excused himself to no one in particular, completely out of habit and walked upstairs. He supposed he'd be informed when the actual meeting would take place. For now, he wanted to explore, get a better grip on his surroundings. He trailed his fingertips over the wall, looking at the old paintings, most of which glowered at him. Some whispered behind their hands to their partners. Others ignored him entirely. The house was darkly beautiful.

He could see where some things had been taken out, large pale spots on the wall where tapestries had been and places where shelves had rested. There was a loud, angry yell and he snapped his head to the left. Light peeked under a cracked door and another loud, angry yell followed by a thud and a groan emminated from the room. Curious, but cautious, Draco placed his hand on the door and looked through the crack the slightly ajar door left him. And almost died of trying to contain laughter.

Granger was hopping about, holding her other foot, obviously having kicked something else. He threw the door open, unable to contain his laughter anymore.

"I'm starting to sense a pattern here, Granger. Anytime we're alone, you're doing that little dance." He leaned against the doorframe, much in the same way he had last night. This time, Hermione was able to keep her balance by grabbing a table. It appeared to be a library they were standing in.

"Ooh.. just.. go." She glowered at him.

"Why?" He tilted his head a bit, watching her.

"Because I said to!" She sat heavily in a chair, frowning as she looked at her feet. "Because I'm angry! I can't find _one bloody thing_ about R.A.B. Not one!"

He pushed himself off of the door frame and took a few steps into the room. "Language, Granger, language. Is that any way for a lady to speak?" He smirked, but continued before she could throw insults at him. "Have you looked through everything in here?"

"Yes." She threw her arms out to the sides, "Every possible book that could hold any information on an R.A.B. I thought Regulus Black, but.. he's dead. No possible way he could take it."

"Have you ever thought there might be a possibility that he's not dead?" Draco took a seat across from her, pulling the book she'd just closed toward him and flipping through a few pages.

"Wormtail was thought to be dead, after all..." He scanned a few pages before closing the book himself.

"Actually.. I hadn't." She looked baffled and embarrassed. "Do you really think there's a possibility he's not actually dead? And.. what's Regulus' middle name again?" She stood up briskly and went to a shelf, letting her fingertips brush the spines of books before she found the one she was looking for. "Alexander. Regulus Alexander Black. R.A.B." She sat down again, heavily, looking at the page for a moment. Both were silent.

"You really think he might still be alive?"

"It's a possibility, right?" Draco leaned his cheek against his hand, looking bored. "We should keep all possibilities in mind if we really want to find all of the horcruxes and finish this."

Hermione nodded. After a moment, she looked up, "Why do you want to end the war? What's your angle, Malfoy?" Her tone wasn't accusatory, but it was skeptical.

"Why, Granger. I'm hurt." He placed the hand he was resting on a moment before to his chest, eyes open wide, his face arranged into something that might pass for innocence if they hadn't known him for seven years. "That cut me to the quick. Of course I only want the just and the right to prevail, you know that!"

Hermione scoffed.

"Okay, enough of that. You really want to know?" He raised his eyebrows, looking directly at her. She stared back.

"I asked, didn't I?" She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest and legs crossed.

"I'm tired of this. It's ridiculous, and flawed... there's no logic behind any of it. I don't want to have any master, aside from myself." He drew himself up proudly, speaking frankly. "I figured those reasons were as good as any."

"I suppose so." She eyed him warily again, and he felt as though he were being inspected for a tell during a poker game, something that could give him away as a liar. He supposed she found nothing, because she relaxed a little.

"Just because we're working together doesn't mean I have to like you, you know." With that, she gathered the two books up and swept out of the room, desperate to find Ginny.

Draco, however, was left sitting at the table in the library feeling a little confused. He frowned, stood up and muttered, "Women." before he left the library for his room.

He didn't understand, really. What did he have to do in order to make himself understood? He wasn't there to infiltrate and betray them. He thought he'd been doing fine, was actually having a conversation with Granger. And then that. He flopped on his bed, crossing his legs at the ankles, his arms above his head. _Just because we're working together doesn't mean I have to like you, you know._ He could still hear her. Slowly, a smirk twitched at the corners of his lips. A challenge, was it? He liked challenges. Especially challenges that had the fun side-effect of pissing of one Ron Weasley.

Hermione had scooped the books up in a huff and decended the stairs. She stomped across the room, and interrupted Ginny and Harry's conversation.

"Sorry, Harry, but can I borrow Ginny for a moment?" There was something in her voice that made Harry look to Ginny, then back at Hermione and shrug.

"Er.. sure." He blinked. Hermione had been acting very strangely lately. Hermione hadn't even noticed that Ron was no longer at the table.

Ginny stood up, brushed her hand across Harry's shoulder in parting, and walked with Hermione back to Hermione's room. Neither one said anything on the way up, but Ginny knew something was up.

"What's wrong? What's Ron done, now? Because, you know, I'm not respon-" Ginny started.

"It's not Ron!" Hermione whirled, slammed the door shut and continued in a calmer, quieter voice. "It's... oh, this is so _stupid_..." She all but threw her books onto her bed and sat on the edge. Ginny sat down next to her, an arm around her shoulders.

"What is it, 'Mione? What's going on?" Ginny was really, very confused. Hermione rarely got this angry if Ron wasn't in some way involved.

"It's Malfoy." She sighed, then held a hand up as Ginny opened her mouth to speak. "No.. nothing like that. In fact," she paused, licking her lips as she tried to figure out how to put it, "he's been almost nice."

Ginny closed her mouth, tilting her head. "Nice? Wait, wait, wait... if he's been _nice_, then why're you so angry?"

"Because everything just changed! I can't take anymore change! There has to be something that stays the same, right?" She turned to look at Ginny, looking for all the world as if someone had just kicked her puppy.

"Hermione Granger. Would you just get a hold of yourself? You're strong. You're smart. You can handle this.. it's a change in the right direction, assuming it's not just temporary." Ginny smiled warmly. "He's been nice, eh? How so?"

"He..er.. helped me up. When I fell, last night." Her cheeks burned, still remembering the embarrassment. "And today, he made a point about R.A.B. I hadn't even _thought_ of. He's actually helping. He wants to get this war over with as much as any of us do. I actually believe he does." She looked into her lap, her fingers worrying the hem of her shirt. "But he's still a stupid, stupid boy." She paused again. "Because I say so."

Ginny laughed, shaking her head. "Hermione, you really need to just take a breath. I think things are getting to you. You've been angry for the last week. I just thought Ron was being stupid again."

"Oh, he is." Hermione looked up, relieved to be on a different topic. "He keeps demanding I date him. Like _demanding_ me to do anything would work. Your brother really doesn't get that it's not romantic, does he?"

"Nope. He thinks he's being suave. He talked to me the other day... he's convinced that if he just keeps at it, he'll eventually wear you down. I told him it probably wasn't a good idea." Ginny smirked, shrugging. "He says he knows you love him."

"But, Ginny.. Oh, I care for him. You know I do.. he's a great friend. But we'd be _terrible_ together. I had a crush on him, for a while.. but not so much anymore." Hermione sighed, but was feeling a little better.

"I know that. And you know that. But Ron doesn't. I think if you want him to ever give up, you're going to have to tell him out-right." Ginny shrugged. "When he was seven, he wanted a pony. He asked every day for thirteen weeks. He only gave up then because Mom told him if he asked one more time, she'd take his toy broomstick away. He's a persistant little bugger."

"Don't I know." Hermione paused, then looked up excitedly. "What's going on with you and Harry?"

Ginny groaned, lowering her head. "I don't know, 'Mione.. I really don't. I respect his decision, but in all honesty, I think he's being stupid. I'm already part of the Order _and_ I'm a Weasley. You'd think that would mean I'm already a target, right?" Hermione nodded. "It's killing me to see him here and know that we're not together. To know we're... just friends." She said the last two words with clear bitterness. "I waited _years_ on him. _Years."_

"To be fair, you did date other people..." Hermione grinned.

"Okay, so I did date other people... but it was that or sit around and wait for him to notice me. I figured, by that point, if he was going to notice me, he'd do it in his own time and no amount of me trying to get him to notice me would be any help. But that doesn't change the fact that I never stopped loving him." Hermione hugged Ginny, doing her best to make her feel better.

They were quiet for a minute, just being girls and not thinking about the terrible anxiety that plagued them both. However, Ginny broke the silence. "Do you have a crush on Malfoy?"

Hermione sprung apart from Ginny, looking at her, shocked. "N-no! Why would you ask _that_?"

Ginny eyed her, a small smile tugging at the left side of her mouth. "Just wondering. I mean... he might be a prick, but, he's beautiful."

"Dangerous, more like." Hermione didn't look at Ginny, and instead, glanced down at her hands.

"C'mon... admit it. He's got a great arse." Ginny poked Hermione in the side, wheedling.

"Okay... okay, okay. He's got a great arse, that I'll admit. But he's a ponce." Hermione giggled.

"He's hot." Ginny laughed, too. "Well, he is!" She added at Hermione's incredulous look.

"So what if he's hot?" Hermione had to laugh... it just sounded strange coming out of her mouth, "He's.. he's.." she paused trying to find a good enough insult, "he's an arrogant, sarcastic..prat!"

"But he's a hot arrogant, sarcastic prat, isn't he?" Ginny grinned all over her face.

"I'm not having this conversation anymore." Hermione fought to keep the smile off her face. "Go find Harry and flirt a little more, why don't you?"

"That sounds like a good idea to me. Stupid noble hero complex." Ginny smiled, though, and Hermione knew how proud of him she was. Again, they were ridiculously, sickeningly in love. This separation couldn't last.

Before Ginny made it out the door, Hermione piped up, "You know he's in love with you. Blindly, stupidly in love. He'll come back, sooner or later." Ginny smiled and opened the door.

And almost walked into Ron.

Who was glowering, arms folded across his chest, face red. Hermione jumped up guiltily.

"Er.. Ron.. how're you this lovely day?" Ginny smiled at her big brother.

"What were you saying about me? I heard my name." Ron looked between Hermione and Ginny.

"You were eavesdropping, Ron?" Hermione had her hands on her hips again, her face losing it's smile for something much more threatening. Ron noted how very much alike to his mother Hermione could be.

"No, I wasn't." His face was growing redder, "I was just passing by and heard my name shouted and then the door slammed."

"Then you should have known what I _actually_ said, was 'It's _not_ Ron.' " Hermione took one step forward, her tone acerbic.

He blinked, "Oh."

"Oh is right, Ronald. And next time, don't stand outside the door and listen to private conversation!" Hermione huffed and stormed passed both Ginny and Ron.

Ron watched her walk downstairs without a backwards glance. "Ron, you need to just let her have some space, okay?"

Ron was left standing there, feeling hurt and looking confused. "What do I do now?" He asked the empty room. The room didn't answer, so, he went back downstairs to see if anything from breakfast was left. He was very hungry having slept through it completly. Harry was sitting at the same place, writing intently.

" Hullo." Ron took a biscuit from a plate and sat down next to Harry. Harry looked up.

"Hi. You okay?" Harry put his paper away.

"I don't think she likes me, Harry."

"Oh." Harry felt sorry for his friend, he really did, but in his heart he was knew that Hermione and Ron dating wouldn't be the best idea they'd ever had. It was hard enough when they were just friends and fighting. Throwing romance into the equation would just complicate things more when they needed a little complication as possible.

"How can you get a girl to like you?" Ron looked at his biscuit, then took a big bite.

"You don't make them like you, Ron. They just.. do." Harry sighed, watching Ron.

"Easy for you to say. You just wiggle your finger and girls come running." Ron's voice was only a little bitter.

"But that's not what I want and you know it." Harry began to feel a little less bad for Ron.

"I know, Harry. I'm sorry." Suddenly, Ron wasn't feeling as hungry as he thought.

"Just, back off, okay? Give her time." Harry returned to his paper.

"You sound like Ginny."

"Shove it." Harry grinned.

"Prat."

"Poofter."

They sat in silence, Ron feeling a little better. He supposed both Ginny and Harry were right. He should back off. But that didn't mean his plan wasn't going to work. There was only one Thursday in every week. That wasn't too much, right? Of course not. Ron liked a challenge, and Hermione was definitely a challenge.

Later that day Harry told Ron to meet him in the Meeting Room. Ron told Hermione. Hermione was given the task of telling Draco. She was having a conversation with herself as she left the library and headed for his room. _Don't think he's hot. Don't think about his arse. He's Draco Malfoy. He's a snot. He's a twit. Oh, but he smells good... He's stupid. He's stupid. He smells good. He's a ponce._ She lifted her hand to knock on his door, still thinking to herself. The door opened before her knuckles hit wood and she jumped a little.

"Twitchy, much, Granger?" Draco smiled his most charming smile. Hermione thought there should have a computer edited _bing! _and a flash of light. When he smiled like that, he could be in a toothpaste comercial. She stood there, having completely forgotten what she was supposed to say having been imagining Draco Malfoy in a commercial for toothpaste. Her mouth twitched slightly before breaking out into a huge grin.

"No.. but I remember your nose twitching at one time. You made the most adorable little ferret, Malfoy." She smiled sweetly up at him.

Draco fought the urge to scowl and throw insults. _Challenge, Malfoy. Operation Win-Over-Granger_. "May I help you in some way?"

Hermione looked up at him, taking a step back slowly. "Have you eaten anything... funny... lately, Malfoy? Are you feeling alright?" It was then that she realized he was shirtless. She deliberately looked away, swallowing. _Damn you, Ginny. He is beautiful. Arrogant bastard._

Perhaps this wasn't the way to go about it. Apparantly, being charming only made her suspicious. "I'm feeling fine. Do you need something, Granger?" His toothpaste ad smile dissappeared and something more akin to what she was used to resurfaced. A smirk, but it lacked any nastiness, only a self-confidence. It looked like he knew something she didn't. He looked like the cat who got the cream. And damn it, even _that_ was charming.

"We're all meeting downstairs, Harry, Ron and I. If you want to help, you should be there. We're discussing where we're going, what we're looking for, how we need to go about it." She took another step back, feeling suddenly far too close to someone she still very much considered dangerous. She studiously did not look at his chest. Or his stomach. Or his shoulders. Or any part of Draco Malfoy that was bare. Instead, she lifted her face and stared him directly in the eyes.

"It's very much appreciated." He moved to close the door behind him, but Hermione spoke up again.

"Aren't you going to put clothes on?" She frowned, feeling herself blush again.

"Do I need to?" He spread his arms, looking at himself.

Hermione never let her gaze drop from his face and she was very proud of herself for that. "Yes." She said firmly.

Draco huffed, rolled his eyes, and went into his room, door closed behind him. He emerged half a minute later with a shirt thrown on. He gestured for Hermione to go before him and, confusedly, she went down the stairs without a backwards glance. _Really_, she thought, _this was too weird. None of this makes any sense. Why can't things just make sense?_ She felt irritated again, this time at Malfoy. He just kept screwing everything up. If he'd just stayed a Death Eater, kept out of her way, then things would be just fine.

Draco followed her closely, his long legs making her quick pace almost liesurely for him. He walked beside her. "Why're you running, Granger? In a hurry to get to your boyfriend?"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend." She snapped before catching herself.

"Oh?" Draco tilted his head, watching her as she very adamently kept herself from looking at him. Which he found strange.

"Yes." She was terse, and Draco knew that this was apparantly a sore spot.

"Something wrong, Granger?" He let the back of his hand brush hers and she moved it away.

"No." She turned the corner, almost ramming Draco into the wall.

"You're very monosyllabic today."

"You're a bastard every day."

Draco frowned, threw an arm out and caught her just under her neck. "Now, hold on just one bloody minute, Granger." He spoke quietly, eyes flashing dangerously.

He turned around, backing her up against the wall. At more than a head taller than she was, Hermione felt dwarfed, but refused to show any fear. She lifted her chin proudly. "I'm waiting."

"I've been _nothing_, if not entirely civil, even... _nice_ to you. And you call me a bastard." Hermione lifted her eyebrows, nodding. "And?"

"_And_, that's very rude. I'm not used to being called names. It hurts." His tone was slow, soft, and sent chills down her back. And not the good kind of chills. His face was suddenly very close to hers.

"You're an arrogant, poncey, prat. You...you're a.." she thrust desperately in her mind for something good, something witty. But the smell of him was making her head go fuzzy. "You're a _tease_, is what you are."She could have kicked herself. _What the hell? Something! Anything! Anything better than 'tease'. Come on... _No words came to her. She looked at his face, feeling shame burning her ears.

"Granger, Granger, Granger.. I'm surprised at you." He shifted, his face less than a foot from hers. "I'm not used to being called names, I've told you already..." He moved his forearm, wrapped his fingers in her hair and moved in to close the distance. Hermione closed her eyes tight, but felt only his warm cheek against hers. She had thought he would have been cold.

Draco leaned in, his cheek against Hermione's and brushed his lips against her neck, not really even a kiss, but the contact was intimate. Far too intimate for Hermione's taste. His breath was warm against her neck as he whispered, "But I have, on occassion by one or two people, been called a tease." He released her hair, smiled his toothpaste ad smile down at her, and walked to the meeting room, quite obviously pleased with himself.

Hermione felt as if she were glued to the spot, her head still tilted where he head pulled her by her hair. It hadn't hurt. In fact... _No!_ _I will not think about this. This did not happen. This did NOT happen._ She pushed herself off the wall and walked to the meeting room, feeling as though she were disembodied.

**A/N: Okay, guys... here it is. Lots of sexual tension in these first couple of chapters, but, I swear, the action is coming in the next one. I have a lot of things planned for Godric's Hollow, I just knew if I wrote it into THIS chapter, it'd be a mile long. Anyway, I STILL need a beta. Anyone up for the job? Please? I give cookies! Oh, and yes, the 'I love you on Thursday' thing was a reference to House, and I do give credit to the writers of House, who/wherever you are. **


	5. Of Dementors and Cliffhangers

**Chapter 5**

**Of Dementors and Cliffhangers or Who Sees Hermione in a Bath Towel?**

**A/N: I want to thank my reviewers properly, and you'll find a list of them at the end of this chapter. Otherwise, I want to apologize for it being several days between this post. I really don't have a life, I've just had some difficulty with this particular chapter. I do hope you enjoy, and be sure to tell me, regardless, in a review. Now, on with the show.**

The arm chairs in the meeting room were placed in a semi-circle facing Harry. Ron sat next to Ginny, who had saved a seat for Hermione. Hermione was to sit between Ginny and Draco. Forcibly, she took her seat and adopted her school lessons face, focusing entirely on what Harry had to tell them. Ginny looked over at Hermione. It wasn't like her to be late, in fact, she was usually early. It seemed strange that Draco had entered before her, but she seemed fine.

"Godric's Hollow, guys. That's where it started. It's likely that's where it'll end. All of this mess. We're going there, first. Truly, I feel that there may be a horcrux hidden somewhere near my parents' house, somewhere meaningful. Everything about these horcruxes has historical meaning, usually to do with Hogwarts' history. Voldemort was fascinated with Hogwarts, possibly because it was the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. He wanted to keep a part of himself alive in Hogwarts." Harry leaned forward, speaking to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, and fairly ignoring Draco. As far as Harry was concerned, Draco Malfoy was there to impart information, to relay specific experiences, and to do little more than that. He was essential, Harry felt, but it didn't mean that he could forget the years of insults, forget that he had let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, had given them the upper hand. Harry would never, as far as he could see, forgive Malfoy for that grievous mistake.

"Harry," Hermione shifted, tucking her legs underneath her in the chair, her body leaning away from Malfoy, " do you know where we can find neighbors of your parents? I'm sure they've already been talked to, years ago, but maybe there's something they've seen or heard that might be able to help us. Even details that might seem inconsequential might have great importance." She tucked hair behind her ear.

"I don't know at the moment, but I did plan to question as many people as possible, find out what I can. We can find the neighbors while we're at it." Harry nodded. "Oh, and, R.A.B? Any new information?"

Hermione frowned, coloring a bit, but answered honestly. "Peter Pettigrew was thought to be dead, right, Harry?"

This wasn't what he was expecting to be said, but, he nodded. "I had first thought that Regulus Black might be the culprit, but I quickly remembered he was dead. However, Malfoy," she paused only briefly, "reminded me that the Death Eaters are quite good at hiding and distorting facts. It might be that Regulus isn't dead. Only hiding. Or perhaps captured. I checked, his middle name is Alexander. R.A.B. fits."

"The Death Eaters aren't known for their capturing people live, Granger, and especially not keeping them in that state for such an extended period." He grimaced, images flashing in his head. It was uncomfortably warm in the meeting room, the air felt stale on his tongue. The memory of his summer was always just under the surface of his thoughts, ready to strike at the most inconvenient times. Draco closed his eyes tightly, forcing them away and his thoughts back on more pertinent things.

She whipped her head around to him, "Fine, then, he's hiding." She turned back to Harry, "But the possibility is still there. In fact, it's the only possibility that I can think of at the moment that has any way of being related to the horcruxes."

"Alright, then, we'll do some research on Regulus, as well. Ron, Ginny, that's your task when we get back from Godric's Hollow." Harry nodded to them in turn.

"Book work?" Ron whined, "C'mon Harry, 'Mione's much better at that than I am."

"I've already started researching the Black family history. There are books set out in the library, Ronald." Hermione sighed.

"Hermione, you'll be helping them research Regulus, when you can. Otherwise, I'll need you to start learning healing spells, potions, and charms. I have a feeling that they'll be in need before long." He paused, biting his lower lip, "…Do you still have those galleons we used for the D.A.?"

"Yes.. But I don't know how many other people kept them. I have the original copy, why?"

"Because I think we may need eyes inside of Hogwarts. Who better than people we know we can trust? I have a feeling that mail won't be safe, so the galleons are the best bet." Hermione nodded to Harry.

"I do know that both Neville and Luna have kept theirs. Luna told me she checked hers regularly." Hermione added.

The room was quiet for a moment. Ginny's head was down, Ron was looking pensive.

"And what do I do, Potter?" Draco held up a hand.

"You?" Harry eyed Draco warily. "You'll be helping Hermione with healing potions. And I want you to recount any and all information you might have to her. Or write it yourself. Either way, I need the information. That's your purpose here, Malfoy. Information we might not otherwise have." His voice was cold, but his eyes were colder. The memory that Malfoy was the one responsible for the state of things as they were blossomed fresh in his mind. The truce they'd silently called was null and void for the time being.

Draco scowled, "Potter, I'm here to help this fight. I'm here because I _chose_ to be here. I've played nicely so far, but I will not be spoken down to. I'll do what you ask, but I expect-"

"Expect? What do you expect?" Ron had stood up in a flash, his face darkening. "You might not have murdered Dumbledore yourself, but you're just as guilty! You let them in!" He'd moved threateningly toward Draco, who stood quickly. Ron was taller, but by only a few inches.

Ginny stood next, sighing, "Will you two _stop it?_ This is stupid! Sit!" She stepped between them, "SIT!" Ron sat.

"I refuse to respond to a command given to dogs." Draco obstinately crossed his arms over his chest. Ginny closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose, a habit she'd picked up from Harry.

"Draco Malfoy, will you _please_," the word was dripping with sarcasm, "sit down and control yourself?"

"That's much better," He hadn't missed the sarcasm, but it was still a right jot better than being told to sit and stay like some mongrel taken off the streets. He took his time, straightening out his shirt and brushing wrinkles from his pants before sitting back down. Ron fumed. Hermione watched his profile knowing that it was only a matter of time before he blew up. The fall out might be difficult to recover from.

"Harry?" Ginny took her seat, tiredly, "When are we leaving?"

"Two hours' time. I expect you to be ready. Pack only one bag that you can carry yourself and we'll meet in the kitchen." Harry wanted very much to reach out to Ginny. However, she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she noticed little about her. The conversation with Hermione had been replaying in her head, over and over. 'He's bound to come back sooner or later.' The problem with that, she knew, was that if he didn't come back sooner, there might not be a later. Dreams were frequently becoming nightmares, visions of death that she couldn't escape. Her way of dealing with things was to pretend it didn't matter, to shove them as far from her mind as possible.

"Meeting adjourned." Harry said, "Ron. You, stay."

Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but Harry shook his head disappointedly and Ron snapped it closed again, breathing rapidly through his nose.

Ginny, Hermione and Draco left, Hermione rather quicker than everyone else and without looking back or waiting on Ginny. She just needed time alone.

Ginny looked over at Malfoy who shrugged, smiled pleasantly, and parted ways with her. Ginny didn't feel that she had the energy to deal with this. It was difficult enough to let Harry agree to her coming, not to mention her mother and Ron. Mind you, she would have gone anyway, if she had to stow away in someone's pack. It was just more difficult. Dealing with the normal crises that happened during this particular age was just a task she didn't feel should handle on top of everything else. She had to deal with being an adult before she was allowed to be a teenager.

Hermione found herself standing in her room, staring at her packed satchel. All of the necessities were there, and it was light enough to carry quite a distance before it became a bother. She still had an hour and forty-five minutes left before it was time to leave. A long, hot bath seemed to be in order. Merlin only knew how long it would be before she got to take another one.

She went to the bathroom off the side of her room. It was private and she was more than grateful for the quiet and solitude it provided. The bathtub was as large as a Jacuzzi, with several different taps; nothing nearly as extensive as Hogwarts, but still impressive. She undressed while the water was running, looking at her face in the mirror.

It was a familiar visage. Long brown hair fell below her shoulders, not so bushy as it was untamed. Her brown eyes were large, but not disproportionately so, and she thought they were her best feature. Her nose was small, but fitted to her face. Her mouth was petite, not quite thin, but certainly not full and luscious. All in all, she found herself to be acceptable and turned away from the mirror

The water was steaming around her, the perfect temperature. She turned a nozzle and thick, bubbly foam spilled out, covering her quickly. It was heavenly. The bath provided an escape, a place where she could let her mind walk through the pages of books she'd read in the past. The bath was a place where there was no battle, no sides, no confusing loyalties, just peace and tranquility.

She slipped her toes out of the bath and wiggled them, smiling for the first time in a long while. The water lulled her into a sleepy, sated feeling and she let her head lean back against the cool porcelain of the tub, her eyes closing as she recalled her favorite parts from her favorite books. Conversations that she could quote verbatim rang in her ears. It was so peaceful, so warm and secure there in the water…

Until banging caused her eyes to shoot open, sitting upright in a flash and causing water to splash over the sides, bubbles hissing furiously as they hit the floor. "What! What?" Hermione looked around at the bathroom door that was shuddering on it's hinges.

"Hermione, we're leaving!" Ginny called loudly, before the banging started again.

"Alright, alright!" It was just then that she realized the water had cooled off. She must have dozed off in the bath. Frowning, she climbed out of the tub, pulled the stopper and watched as her peace swirled down the drain. Sighing, she wrapped a large, white, fluffy towel around her and opened the door.

And promptly swung it shut again. It wasn't only Ginny outside, but Harry, Ron, and Draco, as well. "Will you leave, please, so I can get dressed?"

"Hurry up." Harry answered, tersely. Apparently, none of them had expected her to leave the bathroom without having put on clothes. Ron snickered softly outside the door and she heard a soft slap, then, "Ow!"

Inwardly, Hermione smiled and reminded herself to thank Ginny later. She waited until she heard everyone leave, before dashing out and throwing on clothes. She was still throwing her hair up into a bun, the ends wet, as she ran down the stairs, her pack over a shoulder.

"Hurry, Hermione! The port key's leaving in three…" She ran to Harry and the others, "…two.." She placed a finger on the damaged and much abused tin can, "one.." Then she was sailing through space and time, feeling as though her body were being compressed painfully tight. She couldn't get enough air in. Suddenly, she thought frantically that she would suffocate, and then she was dropped harshly on the ground.

Her head hit Harry's shin, Ginny landed on her stomach and Ron landed a few feet away, hitting his side hard. The only one to remain standing was Draco, and Hermione glared up at him. This whole day was made terrible by his presence. Why couldn't he just be _human_? Then, his eyes traveled down to her. While he was smirking, the smirk was only half-hearted. It didn't reach his eyes.

It was only Hermione in his eyes. It was his past, his pain, his confusion that shone through. Her heart lunged in her chest for a second at that heartbreakingly vulnerable look on his face. Everyone else was struggling to right themselves and weren't paying attention in the least. Draco looked down, the smirk faltering for just a moment.

He saw her glare, he saw the raw pain and frustration on her face. The embarrassment, the confusion, so many emotions vying for the top position in her glare, and he was surprised to see that it missed the cold revulsion, the red hot hate that had once fueled it. Hermione saw the humanity in his face and he struggled to hide it. Three seconds was an eternity and then Hermione looked away, pushed herself up off the ground and grabbed her pack. When she looked up, Malfoy, who was Malfoy again, had turned his back to her.

"Well, Potter? Where do we go now?" Malfoy kept a carefully blank expression on his face, even though he wasn't directly looking at anyone.

"Follow me." Everyone had stood, wincing and brushing themselves off. Harry took off, striding purposefully from their landing place.

It was a green meadow, the air humid and heavy on their shoulders and faces. There were no flowers around, only slightly longish grass that tickled Hermione's ankles. There was no breeze at the moment and everything was unearthly quiet. They walked in relative silence with only Ron muttering to himself in an angry under tone.

Hermione kept her head down for most of the trek, but looked up once when she felt someone slide into place next to her. A quick glance told her that it was Draco Malfoy and she looked ahead quickly, her confusion and anger replaced with a small happiness to see Harry reach out and take Ginny's hand.

They eventually reached a small, run-down, down town area with a few shops here and there. Some were closed permanently, some just closed for the business day, and one or two were open. There was a small coffee shop that boasted it's hours in red: 24/7 Service and the best coffee in town! A banner with it's promise swung suddenly in a cold breeze that felt unnatural.

"Harry.." Hermione whispered. She realized something was wrong. There were no people in the streets. It was summer, there should have been children, or families… someone, somewhere making noise. The cold seeped deeper, the temperature dropping even lower.

"I know." Harry held his hand up, a grave expression on his face. Puffs of breath emitted from the small group and Hermione looked over once again to her right. Draco Malfoy stood beside her, sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead, although his teeth were chattering. He had lost all of the color from his face and now resembled nothing so much as an alabaster statue. He had stopped walking.

"Harry…There's.." Hermione started again.

"Shush!" Harry held his wand up, dropped Ginny's hand, and stood in front of the group, facing a small, dark alley way between two shops.

The next thing Hermione knew, Draco Malfoy had collapsed in a heap beside her, his head laying on her shoe.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry's yell filled the streets and Hermione grabbed for her wand, barely registering everyone else gathering around, wands in hand. Dementors stalked from the small alleyway toward them, their breath rattling in their chests and making sickening, wet noises. Memories flooded Hermione's mind, pain like she could barely withstand filled her chest.

It was like ice in her blood, glass shards in her chest. It hurt to breath, it hurt to blink, it hurt to stand. But she refused to succumb. She stood over Draco Malfoy, her wand held shakily out in front of her and closed her eyes as she yelled, "Expecto Patronum!"

**A/N: I told you guys there'd be action in this chapter. Man, you should see what I've got coming for the next one. I really, really hope you like it. And, I've got a beta! However, as she's out of town, I figured we'll start beta-ness in Chapter 6. And by the way, no, I'm not sorry about leaving you with a cliff hanger. As always, please review. It makes my day, even if it isn't always positive.**

**LunarLupine- There'll be a very interesting fight between Draco and Ron soon. Trust me. You'll enjoy it.**

**AnaDry- Thanks! I'll try to get the next update more quickly. Promise.**

**Blulioness- Thank you so much!**

**Lady Kilalla- I really think Molly likes anyone who appreciates her cooking. **

**Mackenzie- Thank you, I hope you're enjoying the rest of the fanfic just as much.**

**Wasu- I'll never abandon this story. It's too much fun to write! Thank you!**

**IndulgentWriter- Thank you so, so much. You're the reason why I ever added Chapter 2. I figured if there was no response, why bother? But you really helped me. Thank you again.**


	6. Of Bishounen and Revelations

Chapter 6

**Of Bishounen and Revelations**

**A/N: I've been having trouble with my internet and in the interim, I've started another fan fiction, as well. Again, don't worry, this will not be abandoned. **

Dementors stalked between two buildings, their wet, rattling breaths disturbing the otherwise quiet street. Leprous hands outstretched, reaching for the teenagers standing ground before them. If they were cognizant, they might be surprised at the courage of ones so young, but they aren't cognizant of much, other than the insatiable craving for life's essence. Those that stood in front of them reeked of it, the scent of their life roiling off them in waves. The taste was sweet in the cavernous maw that each Dementor possessed. Dry, cracked black tongues touched the roofs of their mouths, savoring the victory that would surely be theirs.

Until the darkened day exploded with light and the cries and shouts of those who stank of life, of happiness, of hope. Bright flashes pressed them backwards, the Dementors shielding their hooded faces from the onslaught of magic. There was nothing left to do but retreat and try again when a more unsuspecting target happened across their path. Black, tattered cloaks swirled around them as they jerkily glided back, hissing furiously. They would return to their posts, disappointed, but still in existence. I do not say 'alive', because I'm not entirely certain that Dementors live as we tend to think about life.

Hermione dropped to her knees, her head swimming dangerously. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, each breath reminding her that her lungs felt raw. Draco Malfoy lay unconscious on the ground, his face still beaded with sweat, blond hair sticking to his forehead and slightly obscuring part of his face. He had always been a pale boy, but he looked as still and colorless as death. Hermione thought that he almost didn't look real, more like a painting that didn't do a good job of capturing a sleeping person's pose. Indeed, he lay in an awkward position that didn't look at all comfortable.

She was aware, vaguely, that others were crowding around her, a slow babble rising in volume assaulted her ears while she was trying to think. A trembling hand reached out and touched the damp, cold cheek below her. Draco flinched.

"My pack! Hand me my pack!" She lifted her head, snatching her blue bag from someone's hand and digging frantically. Finally, she found what she sought: a large silver foil covered chocolate bar. She snapped off a piece, handing the candy back up. "Everyone eat some."

She lowered the chocolate to his mouth, but he didn't take it. Instead, he frowned and turned his head feebly to the side. Frowning in frustration, Hermione all but shoved it into his mouth. "Eat it."

It wasn't a request. Draco clamped his mouth around it and the rich, familiar flavor urged him to eat. Within moments, some of the warmth returned to his fingers and toes. He opened his eyes, feeling weak, his head ringing with pain.

He groaned. "Well.. That was exciting."

The group let out a collective sigh of relief. While they had known the fainting wasn't a particularly damaging effect of the Dementors, it denoted unimaginable pain, the likes of which belonged only to Harry Potter. Apparently, there were things they didn't know about Draco Malfoy.

"You had us all scared to death!" Hermione scowled darkly and swatted his shoulder before helping him up.

"Right. Okay. You're all alive, yes?" Harry's eyes were dark and speculative. Obviously something was turning around in his mind. Hermione watched him warily as she nodded. Draco was much heavier than he looked and he leaned heavily against her shoulder. Ron moved forward and took Draco's other side, wincing as he did so. Ron wasn't in physical pain, he was simply in distress. However, he'd rather keep Malfoy away from Hermione any way possible.

Though he was usually rather single-minded, there were certain things that hadn't managed to escape his eyes. There was a glance here or a comment there that made him uneasy about Malfoy's intentions, and not only when it came to choosing to be in the Order.

There was a chorus of 'Yes, Harry," and he took his glasses off, running a hand through his hair. "Right.." He took a deep breath. "Ginny, you, Hermione, and Malfoy go back. Ron and I will continue on."

Almost immediately both girls started talking very loudly.

"I don't-"

"You can't make-"

"Will you both _please_ be quiet?" Draco's eyes were closed tightly against some invisible pain, his breath shallow and fast.

"Harry, you can't just send us away because we're girls." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. "I've helped you fight against much worse than Dementors, if you'll remember."

"It's true, Harry. We've both been there with you through everything, in nearly every fight."

Curiously, Ron was keeping quiet, watching the conversation intently.

"I'm not sending you away simply because you're girls. I'm sending you away because Malfoy's out of commission. Someone will need to take care of him." Harry's expression all but ended that conversation.

"It doesn't take two to take care of that!" Ginny's eyes blazed defiantly, her mouth set in a hard line.

Sighing heavily, Hermione knew what was going to happen. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had seen where this was heading from the moment she stuck the chocolate in Malfoy's mouth. "I'll go back. I'll take Malfoy with me. Here." She rummaged in her pack again retrieving a galleon for each of them. "If you get into trouble, just change the face. I'll be checking it hourly." With a long suffering sigh, she slung her pack over her shoulder and traded places with Ron.

Ron leaned down as he let Malfoy's arm slide from his neck and whispered, "Be careful, 'Mione, okay?"

"You, too, Ron." Hermione smiled wanly. This was not how she expected things to be going in the least.

Draco remained quiet, still pale and waxy, though he looked like he was recovering slowly. He leaned heavily against her, breathing hard as they started to walk away. Ginny rushed up, tapping Hermione's shoulder.

"Thanks." Ginny said, her face earnest.

"You're welcome and you owe me." Hermione paused, remembering with a slight smile, "And thank you, by the way."

"For what?" Ginny tilted her head curiously.

"Slapping Ron when he laughed earlier." Her face grew warm with the embarrassment of having been seen in nothing but a towel.

"You're… welcome…" Draco said quietly through gritted teeth.

Ginny smiled beatifically, shrugged and jogged away with a little wave.

Hermione frowned in a puzzled sort of way and chose to be quiet until she could figure out what to say to that. The two trudged their way up a hill that wasn't so very steep, though it seemed like a mountain. Already, both were exhausted. Powerful magic tended to drain a person and Draco really had been drained, both emotionally and physically. After several long silent minutes of walking at a slow and steady pace, Hermione spoke up.

"Thank you, though, really." It was a grudging admittance, but if she were going to thank Ginny, it only stood to reason that she should thank Malfoy.

"I should be the one thanking you." His voice was quiet and breathy, his face intent on each step he took. It seemed as though it was taking all his energy to put one foot in front of the other. "It's… they've never affected me like this, before."

Hermione found herself curious as to what might have happened that she wasn't aware of, something so terrible that it caused him to be powerless against the battery of images and memories that assaulted his mind.

"There are… certain circumstances, you know, that will give them more power." She said, feeling a hitch in her side and ignoring it the best she could, "The trick is to concentrate on the happiest thing you can remember."

"Is that how you conjure a Patronus, then?" He stopped momentarily to look her in the face, experimentally stretching his fingers. They seemed to have regained feeling, but they were tingling in an unpleasantly hot way.

"You didn't know? I… I figured you would have known."

"That's relatively advanced magic, Granger. If you'll remember correctly, while you were learning advanced magic in the D.A., I was in the Inquisitorial Squad, learning much of nothing." He grimaced, though whether with pain or remembrance, Hermione didn't know. "I'll admit I'm no stranger to advanced magic, but your brand is something I have little experience with." He began walking again, feeling strength return to his legs. At least they weren't threatening to give way anymore.

"That's true. To conjure a Patronus, you simply focus on the happiest time you can remember, when you felt the most secure and latch on for dear life. Then, the incantation. It's easier said than done, I'll give you, but that's all there really is to it." She paused to put an arm on the small of his back, helping him over a steep part of the hill. The meadow wasn't far, now.

They were both quiet for a very long time, Hermione waiting for Draco to say something, and Draco obviously concentrating on his steps and his thoughts. She had never seen him vulnerable, not like this. Last year, she had seen him sick with anxiety and worry, but he hadn't seemed vulnerable. He had still been Malfoy, the arrogant bastard who lived to torment and intimidate. Hermione wouldn't have been able to fathom herself helping him up a hill to go play nurse to him back then. However, that's exactly the position she found herself in.

His breaths were quick and shallow and she knew he must have had a stitch in his side, too, because he pressed a hand to himself, licking his dry lips. His hair was everywhere, sticking up in odd angles and falling into his eyes, obscuring her side-long glances. His eyes seemed different, now, she admitted to herself. They weren't as distant, if that made sense. It probably wouldn't make sense to anyone but herself, but as she wasn't trying to explain her thoughts to anyone, she felt it satisfactory.

He interrupted her train of thought when he asked, quieter than before, "What if you can't remember a time when you were really, truly happy? When you were really secure?"

She had never thought that Draco Malfoy might not have been happy. He had everything anyone could want. He had the best in brooms, in clothing, and all the material items anyone could want. He had power, simply by saying his name, he had power. He had social standing. He had the marks and the looks. It was shocking to think that there might be something he had wanted more than all of that.

"I suppose you would make something up." By that time, they reached the meadow and it was easier to walk. He let his arm slip from her shoulders and stood next to her, catching his breath. Sweat dotted his brow again, and when he brushed the back of his hand against it, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Hermione almost giggled.

"Make something up?" He cocked his head at Hermione, and suddenly his mind was inundated with erotic images, the likes of which most seventeen year old boys would be familiar with. "Anything?"

"Anything would do." Hermione nodded.

A slow, wicked smile broke across his face, and even though he still looked sick, that wicked smile lent a devilishly handsome charm to him. Hermione could feel herself blush as his eyes slide slowly from her face down her body and back up. She tilted her chin up defiantly, indignantly.

"I said a happy thought, not a horny thought!" She slapped his upper arm smartly, though lightly.

Draco mock winced and sarcastically rubbed his shoulder. "Oh, Granger, get a hold of yourself, would you? I'm male. Happy is horny." He paused, looking up and away from her, a slight smile still tugging at his mouth. "Well, it starts out horny and ends satisfied. _That_ is happy."

Hermione made a disgusted, frustrated noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, shook her head and went to looking for the tin can. She found it after only a few minutes of searching without the help of Draco, and carefully avoided looking at his face when she held it out.

"Touch the tin can, will you?" They both placed a finger on the tin can and Hermione touched her wand to it, resetting the timer. She had just replaced her wand in her robes when the hook sank behind her naval and dragged her back to their starting point. This time, she kept her feet and Draco Malfoy ended up on his ass.

"Hah. Serves you right." She stood over him with a victorious smile on her face. He looked up at her through a curtain of blond hair, expression contrite. Hermione sighed, and rolling her eyes, extended a hand to him, which he took. Draco allowed himself to be pulled up and slung his arm over her for support. The Portkey had done absolutely nothing for his physical state. Now, he felt queasy on top of drained, emotionally wrung, and feeling as though he'd been run over by a stampeding hippogriff.

They were in the kitchen, and the house seemed deserted. It was quiet, but the normal quiet that old houses like this were prone to. "I suppose I should get you to your room?"

"It would be most appreciated, Granger." Draco threw his arm over Hermione's shoulders, though he didn't really need her physical support anymore. The nearness of someone who seemed to genuinely care about him gave him strength in a different way. It was a strength he never thought he'd have .

The stairs seemed so daunting that Hermione actually paused at their sight. With a deep breath, she began the ascent, Draco's body a line of heat that traveled the length of her body. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione's profile. It was all soft lines and curves. He knew his own profile was sharp, his face having very defined, masculine lines. He sometimes forgot how soft a girl's body was. In Slytherin it seemed all the girls there were comprised of hard lines and angles as compared to the girl who was generously helping him up the stairs, despite her own exhaustion and frustration. Truly, Hermione was beautiful, and in more than the physical way.

He felt himself startle silently at his thoughts. Draco was very glad that his thoughts were his own private sanctuary. He felt certain that if he had told anyone that he could feel himself nursing something of a crush on Hermione Granger he'd either be taken for nutters or suspected of using her to gain something for himself. He understood, though, because it was shocking even to himself that he cared about her genuinely for the woman he could see her to be. He didn't care about her for what he could stand to gain from being associated with her or for what he could take from her or have her do for him. She was passionate and intelligent, she was beautiful, independent, headstrong, and stubborn. Hermione Granger wouldn't let him push her around and he positively adored that about her.

Draco Malfoy quite suddenly found that he positively adored quite a few things about her. The hallway that they all shared was to their left, then his door stood in front of them, impassive. He reached forward and swung his door open.

"There, now," She said as she sat him down on his bed. Hermione stilled her hand when she went to brush his hair off his forehead like she might have done to Harry and instead placed her hands behind her back to keep temptation at bay. "You should rest. I'll come back to check on you in a while. If you need me, I'm just down the hall. I'll leave your door open a crack and mine all the way open so if you yell, I'll hear you, okay?"

Draco nodded, but added, without looking her in the eyes, "Will you really come if I call?"

"Er, yes. Now, get some sleep." With that, she turned promptly and exited, leaving his door ajar a few inches.

Draco gingerly bent down to untie his shoes and toe them off before laying back, still fully clothed, his body aching in places it hadn't ached in ages. They did say that after the Cruciatus curse, your body was never the same again. Involuntarily, he winced, and let his eyes close. He should resent her, he thought. Things hadn't been easy to begin with, starting over. Then she was there, with her smile and her laugh and her ability to injure herself at the most embarrassing (and amusing) times. She was a disease that had penetrated his every defense and though he didn't feel he really wanted a cure, he just hoped he was able endure this crush. He hoped that it would dissolve into nothingness. He also hoped that it would do just the opposite.

Try as he might, he couldn't resent her. Instead, he found himself thankful for her. Just knowing she was down the hall gave him a security that he hadn't known since he was a very small child, sitting in his mother's lap. That was before he'd idolized his father. Before his father had told him he was too old to be coddled like an infant. There was something reassuring about her. Briefly, he wondered if she'd considered becoming a mediwitch. Hermione would do quite well at that. Draco suspected she'd be able to put even the jumpiest patients to ease with her obviously more than capable abilities and her sincere bed manner. He drifted off into an uneasy sleep, sprawled across a bed that was rapidly becoming familiar.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, looking blankly at the wall across from her. She knew her mind should be full to bursting with thoughts and suspicions, but instead, it was full of a buzz that reminded her of static on a television set. Thoughts were jumbled and she didn't even bother trying to make sense of them. She let herself fall backwards, toeing her own shoes off as she slid her eyes closed. When she had first come to her room, she fished out the master galleon and lay it on her bedside table. Then, she set to unpacking her meager belongings. It was easier to do something than to let her mind wander.

Hermione found herself replaying the skirmish with the Dementors. Really, she thought, if they had simply rested a few hours, all of them could have gone on. However, she knew that Harry was eager to get Draco away. His presence made Harry uneasy and she could well understand that. What she couldn't understand was why she wasn't equally uneasy around him. Oh, he made her angry, that she was sure. She still hadn't quite forgiven him for the all too intimate encounter before the meeting… was that just earlier today? She rolled her head to the side to see that the sun had completely disappeared and that night had as deftly as a thief stole upon them.

Hermione was worried about him, and she didn't like that. It was ridiculous. He would recover, good as new, in a few hours. Sleep would help. It was disturbing, though, the thoughts she was entertaining. She had stood over him, defended him with everything in her. Would she have done the same for anyone in that position? The answer, of course, was yes. But, would she have done it with the same sort of passion behind it? It wasn't that she could envision herself skipping off into a field of daisies and rainbows and gumdrops. That wasn't it. It was that he intrigued her. Draco was a puzzle and one that she intended to figure out.

Hermione let herself remember his face in sharp detail. It was markedly handsome, almost too pretty for a man with long lashes that were the same delicate shade of blond as his hair. He had stormy eyes that hid his emotions well, when he chose. Though, she had noticed, that he was being very slightly more open. He was still arrogant. He was still stubborn and demanding and well… himself. That hadn't changed. So what had?

Hermione Granger sat bolt upright in bed, ignoring the pangs of her body admonishing her for such a quick, uninvited movement. What had changed, she realized, was that she had become fond of the damnable little ferret. She had to admit, at least to herself, that she fancied him.

This time, she flopped resignedly back to the bed and groaned in displeasure of her current state. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It would have been sensible to fall in love with Ron and get married, if they both survived, and be a part of the Weasley family for life. She loved the Weasleys, and it would be wonderful to be Molly and Arthur's daughter-in-law. It would have made perfect sense to fall for anyone, anyone else.

It didn't seem that it was likely to happen, though. She was now thoroughly entranced by the person she had at one point least suspected would hold any promise or potential for anything good. He was also the one person that held the ability to damage friendships she'd had since she was eleven. She flipped to her stomach to glance at the galleon, just in case, and saw that it remained as it was. A little nap, she told herself, would clear her head. After what had happened to Draco, it was easy to imagine that she was protective of him and that this slight fancy would pass when she woke up.

A little over an hour later, when she could no longer lay in bed and pretend to herself that she was not awake, she found that it remained.

**A/N: Okay, okay. No kiss yet. I really don't want to rush things. I tried, but it just didn't manage to fit in here. As to the long wait, I've had issues with my internet as of late, and I apologize. However, I'm really very happy with the chapter, having had a long while to write and re-write as I so desired. Please, review. Let me know what you're thinking, my darlings! BTW, isn't he just the perfect little Bishie?**


	7. Confusion By Boys

**Chapter 7**

**There Is No Healing Potion That Relieves Confusion By Boys**

**A/N: Well, here it is ladies and gentlemen. This is my favorite chapter so far. I wrote five pages of this in fifteen minutes. It was so natural to write. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did just writing it.**

The comforters were warm and secure over her. Hermione rolled to her side unhappily, staring out the window facing west. It was all blood and fire. If she had been one to put much stock in omens, she might have found that to be a bad portent, but instead, she found it accurately reflected her mood. The east would be nothing but a large, dusky ink stain, spreading across the sky. The house was still quiet and she took the time to lay there in it, trying to force all thoughts of a particular blond Slytherin from her mind. It didn't work as well as she thought it should have.

A slight whimpering noise caught her attention and she sat up slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. There it was again, louder this time. Frowning, Hermione put her sock feet on the floor, and walked to the door, peeking her head out. The slight whimpering noise was coming from down the hall. It had to be from Draco's room. She made her way across the hall, opening his door fully. He was spread-eagle on his bed, the covers tangled around his ankles. He made a desperate whining noise in his throat and one hand moved, looking like he was batting something away from his face.

Hermione sat on the edge of his bed, letting her fingertips brush over his warm forehead. He wasn't sweating, but he looked quite distressed. She had seen Harry look like this too many times not to know the tell-tale signs of a terrible nightmare. Hermione, herself, was not unfamiliar with nightmares. Quietly, she talked to him in soothing tones as she let her fingers ghost over his face.

"There, there.. It's just a bad dream, you stupid little ferret." Her tone was one she might use to speak to cute little animals or babies. Hermione was still finding it difficult to be out-right nice, and took this chance for a half-hearted jab at him. Draco began to calm, his breathing coming slower and easier. He turned on his side, one arm snaking over Hermione's as he curled around it.

Hermione now found herself in a very awkward position, bent side-ways with Draco Malfoy cuddling her arm and looking far too innocent for her taste. While he slept, he looked younger, she realized. However, what he looked like wasn't the problem. Her problem was figuring out how to get out of his death-grip without waking him up.

Slowly, she shifted her body, leaning on her right hand for support as she moved her weight to her feet. She was standing, but bent over, still attached to Draco by her wrist. When she tried to pull it, he groaned plaintively and tugged her back, like a child who was in danger of losing his favorite teddy bear. "Okaaay.." Hermione whispered to herself, trying desperately to figure out the best way to escape this situation with as little embarrassment as possible.

She moved again, achingly slowly, as she lay down behind him in a spooning position. Perhaps this way, she thought, she could lift his arm easier and remove her own. However, just as she was sliding her arm out of his grasp, he let out a long sigh and scooted back, effectively cuddling her. Hermione froze.

"Mm…" He muttered sleepily. This was not good. Hermione also knew the signs of a person on the verge of consciousness. How many times had she seen Harry and Ron in the hospital go through the same sleepy noises before they woke? She closed her eyes tightly, hoping that if she couldn't see him, he wouldn't be able to see her.

"…Granger?" Damn. She'd been caught. Draco moved to look over his shoulder as best he could while remaining laying on his side. There was no mistaking that hair, or the hand that he held to his chest.

"Er… I can explain.." She tried to get up, but the grip on her arm hadn't been loosened. She ended up tugging him back against her chest, effectively trapping herself more.

"Oh, please do. This should be interesting." He wiggled against her, smirking maddeningly.

"Do you _mind_?" Hermione tugged quite plainly at her arm.

Draco curled it around himself more, pressing her palm to his chest. "No, really I don't mind at all." He fluttered his lashes at her, breaking into a big, mock-innocent smile.

"You were having a nightmare. I came in here to quiet you down and you.. You took my arm." She finished lamely, attempting to wriggle her arm out of his grasp. How had she ended up in the same bed as Draco Malfoy?

"Are you sure you didn't just want to take a nap with a roguishly handsome man?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"If I _had_, I would have gone elsewhere," she replied scathingly, still attempting to free herself from the predicament she found herself in.

"Granger! You cut me to the quick!" Quick as a flash, he rolled over, pinning her to bed. His face hovered over hers with only a few inches separating them. Hermione held her breath, wide eyes looking up at him.

His smell was making her head go all funny again, his heat pressing down on her, and she lost all ability to move.

"If you had wanted to be in my bed, all you had to do was ask," he whispered silkily, moving his head down minutely, closing the distance between himself and Hermione slowly.

That was it. Something inside her head snapped, bringing her back to reality. _You're in his bed! Oh, you stupid, stupid girl! Get out!_, her mind screamed at her. Quickly, she pressed both hands to his chest and pushed. He merely caught her wrists and rolled. Hermione now found herself kneeling between his legs, her hands on his chest.

Draco looked up at Hermione, hair crazily going in all directions, and her eyes wide. Her face was flushed a pleasant shade of pink and her breath was coming quickly. He had imagined this scenario before, he realized, though there were less clothes in his vision.

"Why, Granger," Draco leered up at her, eyes full of mischief, "I didn't know you liked it on top."

Her face flushed beet red, and her eyes grew dark with anger. "How _dare_ you?" It was all that would come out between gritted teeth.

"How _dare_ I, what?" He mocked her intonation, one brow perked inquisitively. "If you really wanted out of this situation, Granger, you've had the ability to do it. You just haven't."

He was right, of course, and that made her even angrier. Privately, she was enjoying being this close to him, enjoying the power struggle that they were engaged in. "Although, I have to admit, waking up with you curled around me is a bit dodgy. Do you do this with all the handsome young men in your care?" Draco smirked, his lips twitching as he fought laughter.

"Oohh!" She glared at him and went to push herself off of him. Before she could, though, he grabbed her behind the elbow, making her fall to his chest.

"Wait." His voice was suddenly softer, imploring instead of mocking. Something in his voice caused her anger to subside momentarily, and she waited, her breath stilling in her chest.

He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face up to his. One of her hands was caught between her and him, the other had moved to his shoulder. She was trembling, and she told herself she was shaking with anger, though she knew she was lying. In fact, she let him raise her face, though her eyes were closed. If she opened her eyes, she was afraid she'd lose her head entirely, if she hadn't already.

Draco took a moment to look her over. Her hair framed her face and brushed his arm ticklishly. There was a smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of her noise and high on her cheek bones. Long lashes fell splayed, just above the freckles and her mouth was pursed. Her expression said that she was waiting to be hit, or smacked, or worse. It didn't say that she was expecting what came next.

He lightly cupped her cheek in his palm, and sat up, bracing himself on his right elbow. His breath was warm against her face. She could feel the warm, quick puffs against her cheek. Quite abruptly, his lips were against her own.

Had she ever allowed herself to think of kissing him, she would have thought it would have been rough and calculated. It was no secret that he wasn't unfamiliar with women. Though Hermione paid little heed to the gossip around the common room, there was only so much you could ignore. However, the way Draco Malfoy kissed was not something that there was much known about. Or if there was much known about it, it wasn't discussed nearly as much as his antics in bed or who his latest sexual conquests were.

He kissed softly, purposefully and there was none of the harshness she expected. It was at once familiar and new. Hermione, herself, was no stranger to snogging, though her experience was somewhat more limited than his. The only people she had kissed were Viktor Krum and an ill-begotten kiss with Ernie one night while studying with him in the library. Both had decided there was absolutely no chemistry between them and promptly decided that they should never talk about it again.

His hand moved from her cheek to tangle itself in her hair, his thumb sweeping across her face briefly before he broke the kiss. He hadn't pushed it, hadn't forced himself into her mouth or restrained her. What surprised her most was that she had responded to the kiss as if it were the most natural thing in the world that she should find herself snogging Draco Malfoy in his bed.

Draco let himself lay back on the bed, looking up at Hermione, who eyes were still closed, her mouth parted slightly. He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through his chest and into her hands. That shook her enough to open her eyes. She blinked confusedly for a moment down at him, then pushed herself up without being pulled back down to him. Without saying a word, she stood up off the bed, and stood there for a moment.

It looked as though she were waiting for an explanation of some sort, but he wasn't really willing to give one. There had been a lovely woman in his bed, one that he was growing truly fond of. He was seventeen. Hermione should understand; after all, wasn't she supposed to be the brightest witch to come out of Hogwarts in an age? However, he did feel that he should break the oppressive silence that hung between them like a curtain.

"Thank you. For helping me." His expression was sincere, though his eyes wandered from her face to briefly rest lower. Hermione shook her head as if snapping herself out of a day dream, frowned confusedly. "You're welcome," and with that, she walked out of his room.

She found herself in the library, wandering between two shelves of books, her fingertips ghosting over the spines like they had ghosted over his face moments ago. Hermione wasn't entirely certain why, but she felt the burning sensation in her nose and uncomfortable prickling behind her eyes that announced the arrival of tears. It didn't make any sense to cry. She wasn't about to analyze it. Instead, she started pulling out books.

Once she had an armful, she sat down, pulling parchment to her as she began copying ingredients she would need for potions. Some of the directions were quite complicated, and more than one required there be at least two people to brew it correctly. Tears coursed over her cheeks slowly and she did nothing to stem the flow, other than blinking rapidly so she could see the text without it blurring so much she couldn't understand what it said.

Draco Malfoy lay on his bed, brow creased in thought. He could still taste her on his lips, could still feel her hands on his chest. He had given up trying to figure out _why_ he wanted her, and instead concentrated on the fact that he did want her and had seemed to be rejected. This was more than unusual. Draco couldn't for the life of him figure out where he had gone wrong.

He had been charming, he had been romantic, in his opinion. And yet, she had left. Draco rubbed his face roughly with his hands, sighing heavily. He was at a complete loss about what to do about one, Hermione Granger. She was unlike the women he had courted before. He knew she wouldn't respond to the same things they had, she was far too intelligent to fall for sweet words that were obviously saccharine, or for gifts of expensive things. Anger welled up in his chest, a beast roaring unhappily. How could she reject _him_, Draco Malfoy?

Oh. She had been subjected to years of torment, hadn't she? For a moment, the years had been erased and all he knew was her above him, their past wiped clean. Tabula rasa. That's what he needed, a blank slate. Dejectedly, he knew he would never receive one. He supposed he should go and find her. He slipped his shoes on, glancing at himself in the mirror momentarily.

He was positively horrified at his reflection. Blond hair stuck up every which way, his clothes were wrinkled and there was a grass stain on one knee. It was unacceptable. He splashed his face with cold water, rearranging his hair back into it's proper shape. There was nothing to be done about the clothes for the moment, so he pressed his palms against his clothes as flatly as possible, and hoped for the best as he walked to her room.

Hermione was not there. He leaned against the door frame, surveying her room. He had expected nothing else. It was neat, organized, and almost too tidy, though her bed was unmade. He knew that if she wasn't here, in her room, there was only one other place she could be: the small library. His feet switched to autopilot and carried him there.

The door was open and she didn't lift her head from the book she was deep into, her right hand scratching quickly across the parchment. There was the tell-tale opalescent sheen under her eyes that told that she had cried. Truthfully, he hated seeing women cry. Draco was always at a loss at what to do, even if he cared enough to want to offer comfort. But there was something about a woman who had finished crying that made her look delicate and beautiful. It just occurred to him that she was delicate. Her wrist was slender, as was the rest of her, and he was again struck with the realization that he'd possibly ruined something that had never had a chance to begin with.

What had he been thinking? That she would fall into his open arms, that Potty and the Weasel would greet him as a brother, and that they would merrily go about beating his former master? He could have smacked himself, if he didn't think his face was too pretty to muss. Instead, he watched her silently. She bit her bottom lip when she was thinking, or the end of her quill.

He figured he owed her something, an explanation possibly. He would not apologize for that kiss, though. Apologies implied you were sorry about something and he was _not_ regretful for kissing her. In order to alert her to his presence, he cleared his throat.

Hermione started, making a blotch of ink on the paper. She scowled, pointed her wand at the parchment and muttered under her breath as the blotch appeared to sink into the parchment, completely invisible. Her eyes darted up, knowing who it would be, and then just as quickly back down to her book.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Her voice was tired.

"To talk to you for a moment." He hadn't moved closer than the door frame. He felt as though if he even breathed too hard, he would frighten her away.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I disagree. We have a lot to talk about." He licked his lips, standing straight and ceasing to use the door jamb as a leaning post.

Hermione looked up at him then, eyes flashing with anger. "Oh? Do we? Well, alright then." Her voice was rising, "Let's talk, then, shall we? Let's talk about how for _years_ you insulted me, you tormented me. Let's talk about how you made my life _hell_, not to mention you made life hell for my best friends!" He stood up and walked around the small table, coming to stand several feet away, but directly in front of him.

"Let's talk about how…" she paused to take a breath, "all of the sudden you've switched sides. How you're suddenly always right beside me. Let's talk about how you _kissed_ me." She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly waiting for an explanation. She didn't give him time to respond. "Let's talk about how you've _never_ apologized for anything you've ever done to me. Any of those topics sound like fun? Do they?"

"To be fair, you kissed back." He held up a finger as he made his point, smiling in a hopeful sort of way. This only incurred further wrath as she snorted dangerously, reminding him of a bull readying itself for the charge.

"Alright, alright… I've already told you, I didn't believe anything I was saying. It was just… entertainment." Draco winced, knowing as soon as it was out of his mouth, this was the wrong thing to say.

"Entertainment." Her voice was flat, dead. "_Entertainment?_" It turned angry and incredulous quickly. "If tormenting me was entertainment, how do I know kissing me isn't just some cruel joke? That it isn't strictly _entertainment_, too?" Her voice was scathing, acidic, and her eyes were as cold as they could possibly be. Draco shivered.

"I could tell you it's not, but you wouldn't believe me." He sighed, letting his head fall slightly, "I barely believe myself. If this is hard for _you,_ Hermione, imagine how hard it is for me."

She let the use of her first name slip, choosing not to comment on it. For now. "How hard it is for poor Draco Malfoy." She placed a hand to her chest, obviously mocking him, "Oh, let's all weep for poor Draco, shall we?"

He looked up, no longer contrite, but as angry as she was. "Don't make fun! Do you have _any_ idea what I had to do to get out? Do you have _any idea_ what I've seen? What I've gone through?" He took a step forward. Hermione went to step backwards, but found she was blocked by the table.

Draco watched her fumble and smiled nastily. "Afraid, Granger?" He perked a brow.

"No. I've never been afraid of you. There's no reason to be." She lifted her chin in an obvious challenge, though inside she was feeling much less strong.

Draco took another few slow steps toward her. "Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes." She paused, wanting to switch tactics. "Why is it always about you? What about all the other people who have been fighting against you from the beginning? You expect us to just…drop that animosity like it never was? You expect us to forget everything you've done to us?" She spoke quieter, the anger draining from her voice slowly, "Do you expect _me_ to forget everything…?"

Draco halted his steps, cocking his head at her. "No," he said flatly. "I don't expect you to forget everything. But I would like a second chance." He shrugged, "Isn't that what you good guys are all about? Second chances?"

"A second chance for _what_, exactly?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"To do what I should have done in the first place." He took another step toward her. Hermione didn't move away.

"And what, pray tell, is that?" She brushed her hair out of her face, watching him scrutinizing.

"Dictate my own actions based on what I believe to be right, not what someone else thinks." He shrugged, standing less than a foot apart from her. "To live my life as _I_ choose."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, "And how do you choose to live your life, Draco?"

Faintly, she realized that this was the first time she had used his name. It didn't flow smoothly from her lips, and instead, she found it awkward in her mouth. It was as though she were rusty at speaking .

It use of his first name had not escaped him, either, and a smile tugged at his lips. "I choose to live my life doing as I see fit. I choose to allow myself to get to know people I otherwise might have…overlooked." His gaze was pointed and the meaning of his words was more than crystal clear.

"Oh? Is that so?" Her voice came out much smaller than she had heard it in her head, but tried desperately to ignore it.

"Yes. It is so." He rested his hands on her shoulders, watching the trepidation on her face. They were quiet, standing there for a moment, before he whispered, "I'm going to kiss you, now."

It wasn't a request, but at least this time, she had warning. His lips crashed down onto her and she lifted her face to meet his. This was ludicrous, she thought faintly, before the feel of his kiss washed away all lucid thought. All that mattered at that moment was his warmth on her lips, the touch of his hands on her face and the arm he had wrapped around her waist, pulling him to her.

Hermione tentatively raised her own arms, snaking them around his neck, her fingers carding through his hair. It was ridiculously soft. Boys who had hair like his made her angry. Why should he get good hair when she had to fight with hers every day? Oh, but it didn't matter as long as he kept kissing her like this. He moved his lips against hers softly, varying the pressure before delicately taking her bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling lightly. That was a new experience for Hermione, and one she thoroughly enjoyed.

After several long moments, she pulled away, breathing hard, though she didn't disentangle herself from him, nor he from her.

"Strange, isn't it?" She asked, face flushed again, lips slightly swollen.

"What's strange?" He had two spots of color high on his cheeks and his mouth, too, looked like it might be a bit bruised.

"We've spent all these years using our mouths to injure each other, and now…" She just let the sentence drop off, knowing he would understand. Indeed he did, by smiling a wicked smile she was fast becoming familiar with.

"And now.." There was a tone of finality to his voice as he dropped to cover her mouth in another kiss.

**A/N: I know, I know.. All mushy and stuff. Don't worry, though, Chapter 8 will have A LOT of action in it. But, I sat down and was re-reading some of my chapters and this chapter just came to me. I couldn't -not- write it. Apparently, Draco and Hermione couldn't wait the two other chapters I had had planned before they got together. shrugs Go figure. Malfoys. Always do things on their own damn time, don't they? Anyway, as always, please read and review, my darlings!**


	8. Of Spongebaths and Sweets

**Chapter 8**

**Of Spongebaths and Sweets or Is Harry Dead?**

**A/N: You reviewers have given me such a wonderful response that I've decided to post sooner than intended! You all give me the warm and fuzzies. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh. Don't hate me for the end of the chapter, 'kay? As always, read and review, my darlings. Read and review. cackles evilly … coughs… done. Really. Just.. Read it.**

Harry, Ron, and Ginny traipsed through the alleyways, heading towards the residential area of Godric's Hollow. Harry somehow knew, just knew where he was going. There was nothing that he could truly remember, but the familiarity of it all brought pain to the surface, surging new and raw. Harry felt tears, but blinked hard behind his glasses. Now was not the time for that. Ginny sidled up beside him and took his hand, her small fingers threading through his own large, calloused fingers.

He was grateful for her, grateful that she chose not to speak, and instead leant her own special brand of comfort. Having had many brothers, Ginny knew when was the time to say something to comfort and when the time was for nothing but sitting, or in this case, walking. Ron kept pace on Harry's other side, thinking hard. Soon, his thoughts became quicker, half-formed and enraged.

"How could we have just let her go off with him?" He was angry, he was afraid, and stressed. Ron was walking to Merlin knew where, armed with only the spells he knew and a wand, feeling very much like he would have to protect his best friend and his little sister. But he couldn't protect Hermione. If she had been there, at least he could have the small comfort of knowing he could protect her if it came down to it.

"We didn't just 'let her go off' with him. She volunteered, Ron. She knows what she's getting into." Ginny explained calmly, rationally, though she spoke low in case unwanted ears might happen on their conversation, or that their talking in general might give away their position.

"But.. But.. _why?_ I just don't get it. He's been horrible. He's _evil_, Gin. How could she want to help him?" Ron was more than befuddled.

"You know Hermione, Ron. I'm willing to bet she sees taking care of Malfoy as a test. If he lives, she gets an O. If she fails, and he happens to die," Harry tried not to sound too terribly hopeful, "she gets a T." He paused, sighing, and Ginny squeezed his hand lightly. Harry returned the squeeze without looking at her. "I'm not at all bothered that he's not here. I don't want him knowing any more than he already does. Being here is a liability.. He could have found out more information than is necessary."

"But what if he… does something to her?" Ron would never be able to forgive himself if she got hurt because he let her go off to play nurse to Malfoy. That particular phrase was a bad one as it conjured up images of Hermione in a nurse's outfit that was far too short, seductively offering Malfoy a sponge bath. His lunch crawled up his throat and he swallowed quickly. That was _not_ an image he wanted. "What if Malfoy..."

Before he could finish elucidating one of the many unpleasant things Malfoy could do to Hermione, he looked around and felt the words die on his lips. They had reached a section of Godric's Hollow that was clearly residential and clearly where they had been headed to in the first place. Down the street, at the far end, was a house that looked as though no one had been in it for years. There was no mistaking it for the Potter's old residence.

Silence was the preferred option, and Ron left his 'what if's' to swirl around and around the back of his mind as he reached into his robes and found the handle of his wand. Harry and Ginny let their hands fall from one another's reluctantly and they drew their wands, as well.

Before anyone knew it, they stood in front of a two story house that had probably at one time looked homey, cozy even. Now, the roof sagged, making the entire building look fatigued. A shutter or two had blown off and the one that was left hung crookedly on one hinge. The steps leading to a wide front porch looked weather beaten and treacherous. Merlin only knew what the inside of the house would look like. Harry felt his head swim and realized he hadn't taken a breath in some time. He remedied this quickly, trying not to gasp for air.

"That's haunted, mister." A little voice shattered the silence, and all three jumped with wands at the ready, Ron making a little squeaking noise in the back of his throat.

A small blond haired boy stood on the opposite side of the street, a toy broomstick clutched tightly in his sticky little hand. They lowered their wands. "It's haunted." His blue eyes were wide, face sincere. "Bad stuff happened there. Mommy told me. I wouldn't go in there, if I were you."

Harry smiled wryly at the child, wondering if he knew how lucky he was. Probably not. Most definitely not. "It's my house, kid. Why don't you go on home?"

The little boy shrugged and took off full speed ahead to where his home must be. Ron laughed nervously. "I wasn't afraid.. I was just.. Just trying to spook you two." He laughed again, mustering as much bravado as possible. "You should have seen your faces!"

"Oh, shut it Ron." Ginny rolled her eyes and smirked at her older brother. He wasn't a chicken, really. Just jumpy.

"I suppose it's now or never, eh?" Harry took another lungful of air and started up the stairs.

Meanwhile, back at number 12, Grimmauld Place, Hermione and Draco were hard at work, pouring through dusty tomes that held antiquated potions and charms to defend, to protect, to ward, to heal, and all manner other things. Apparently, if you were a dark wizard or witch, you valued your privacy.

"Look at this!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly. "Oh! I'll bet _this_ will be useful! I've never heard of this before… Phoenix Lacrima." Her eyes traveled down the page, skipping over words with as much enthusiasm as any little boy might stare at new Quidditch equipment. "It says here: The potion Phoenix Lacrima is artificial phoenix tears. This particular brew heals wounds that would otherwise be fatal. The reader should take caution, as the dosage must be exact. If an incorrect dosage is given (see table on page 484 for correct dosage information), either too much or too little, side effects may occur such as…" Hermione moved to the page beside it, "eye of newt, powdered vampire fang.. What?" She frowned confusedly before seeing that a page had been ripped completely out of the text. A jagged, yellow piece of paper running down the middle of the book announced the revelation that a page had been violently ripped from it's rightful place. "How could someone do that?" She turned to Draco, her face suggesting that ripping page 486 out of her book had been a personal insult.

He looked up briefly, and then back down to where he was copying information as she read it aloud, trying to stifle the urge to laugh at her displeasure, "Granger," he said lazily, "Not everyone is as in love with books as you happen to be."

"But it's important information! What if someone did make a mistake in the dosage? How would they know what to look for… how to counteract them?" Hermione looked positively horrified as she ran a fingertip over the severed edge in the book, as if to comfort it. Draco imagined that she couldn't have looked more sympathetic if a puppy with a broken paw had limped up to her just then, and put it's head in her lap.

"You're brilliant, Hermione." He stated blandly, though it was the truth. "If you happen to need to give that potion to someone, you won't mistake the dosage. You're too clever for that." He finished writing what she had said, interjecting his own little comments within the notes for his own amusement later, and cracked his knuckles, leaning back in the chair. The chair balanced on the back two legs as he stretched, yawning. "Is this enough work for now?" His voice was plaintive, walking a fine line between boredom and simply whining.

"I.. suppose." Hermione was still flipping back and forth, as though she might find the page somewhere else in the book. She even went so far as to hold the book up by each cover and shaking it, to see if someone had placed it randomly within the pages, hoping to dislodge it. Nothing fluttered out of the book. Hermione sighed, rolling her shoulders. They had been at it for four hours, now, and her back was beginning to make it's displeasure at being stuck in a hunched position for four hours known.

"Hungry?" She asked, poking his stomach as he stretched. It was such a perfect opportunity, she couldn't resist.

He covered the spot she had so rudely prodded with his palm, scowling at her. "Do not interrupt a Malfoy when he is stretching. Really, Granger, and I thought you had more manners than that. Perhaps that was too much to expect from a _Gryffindor_." He said the word as if it tasted foul in his mouth.

After the kiss, or rather, several kisses and a bit of sitting about next to each other, doing and saying absolutely nothing, Hermione decided they should probably start doing what they were actually supposed to be doing. They hadn't discussed what they were, or what they would do. It was enough, for the moment, to know that they wanted each other. That didn't change their personalities or their own personal agenda.

It had simply been nice to lean against his chest, listening to his heart beat with his arm slung casually over her waist. Hermione thought she might have dozed off for a bit, but it was just so comfortable. His body was lean muscle, so warm and solid beneath her. There was something between them that she couldn't identify, but it reminded her of electricity. It was something she hadn't had with Viktor, or Ron, and least of all, Ernie. Draco challenged her, he pushed back when she shoved, and she found that once the venom was taken out of it, she quite enjoyed a verbal spar with him.

For Draco, he had lain awake, watching the rise of fall of her side as she breathed, happily napping on his chest. Everything in him screamed that he should be ravaging her. He should be making out with her, demanding that she please him. Instead, he had been quite content to just be near her, feeling her warm softness next to him. Neither one had had the courage to ask what it was they were exploring between them. He certainly hadn't had the fortitude to ask. Women were just women to him, toys to be used and disposed of at his whim. Hermione was not a toy. Hermione was a _woman_, which was a different thing altogether. She sparked a curiosity in him, a passion that he had only just realized was more than hate. It was true, he thought retrospectively. There was a fine line between love and hate and he'd walked that line for years. Now, he was jumping head first into what, he didn't know. There certainly wasn't a net at the bottom, that was for sure.

When she had awoken, she had put on Granger-face, as he came to think of it. The studious Head-girl expression that said quite plainly they had to get to work before they could play. When she was in his arms, she was Hermione. When she was reading, she was Granger. Draco smiled quietly to himself, just thinking about having her in his arms again.

"Starved." He paused to stand up, bending backwards a bit and hearing the satisfying pop. "So, get in the kitchen and make me some food, woman." He was playing, but he knew it was enough to incense her.

"I'll have you know, Malfoy, that women aren't the only ones who have the ability to throw things together that eventually end up in an edible fashion," She started as she stood as well, stretching her legs. "I'll bet if you try really, really hard," she made her tone as condescending as possible, "You might even be able to… gasp! Make a sandwich, all by your lonesome."

"Malfoy men, such as myself, don't have to do that sort of mundane work." He puffed out his chest, standing as tall as possible and towering over her. "That's _your_ job."

Hermione poked his stomach again, much harder this time, and it was enough that he expelled all the air he'd sucked in to push his chest out in an "Ooof!" He glared half-heartedly at her, rubbing the spot ruefully.

"Enough with the poking, Granger. Cooking's your job," he paused, leering at her, "Poking is mine." Ah, the use of subtle perversion. So effective. He all but beamed as Hermione's cheeks blossomed bright red.

"Oh, shut it, you." But there was no sting in her tone as she left the library, massaging her aching fingers as she descended the stairs to the kitchen. She stopped short when she saw the table, laden with two bowls of stew and fresh baked bread. There was a plate of sandwiches, mounds of desserts, a pitcher of pumpkin juice, a pitcher of Butterbeer, and a tureen of soft, yellow butter. The smell hit her like a wall and her mouth instantly began to water.

Draco bumped into her from behind, "Watch it, Granger or I'll-" Hermione never found out what he would do, because he sidestepped her and walked to the table, an expression of awe on his face. He turned to her, "Did you…?"

Hermione shook her head, "I take it you didn't, either?" Draco shook his head, as well.

There was a faint _pop_! and who should appear in the middle of the warm, homey kitchen, but Dobby! Hermione's face broke out into a huge smile.

"Dobby! What are you doing here?" She rushed toward the small, green creature, who's eyes brimmed with tears at the sight of her.

"Headmistress sent Dobby to you to help. It is acceptable?" Dobby bowed, instinctually.

"Dobby, it's more than acceptable, it's wonderful!" She bent to hug him. "Won't you please join us?"

She felt the small body shake and knew immediately she'd set him to tears. Draco stood next to the table, watching on with equal parts amusement and revulsion. Truthfully, house elves were horrid looking things with their great, squishy eyes. He had rarely, if ever seen one, but he knew that this must be one. A strange, strange house elf, though. It was wearing an oversized maroon sweater and mismatched socks. One sock was printed with small happy faces, the other with brightly colored flamingos in different positions. This was a strange house elf, indeed. And of course, Hermione Granger would be on a first name basis with it.

"You are too kind to Dobby! Harry Potter has such kind, such generous.." he paused, his sobs becoming too great for actual words to come out. He covered his eyes with his long fingers, and Hermione stood up, a small smile on her face as she let him have a moment.

"Dobby must…" he sniffled, "must be off. There's cleaning to do." He gave a great, watery smile, beaming up at Hermione. Dobby hadn't even acknowledged Draco's presence, but he would rather not have had a reunion with his father's house elf. Not if there was going to be tears all over his shirt. Dobby cracked out of existence in the way that elves do, and Hermione turned around, mouth open and obviously ready to explain.

Draco held up a hand, "No.. No, I don't even want to know. Let's just.. eat.. Shall we?"

Hermione laughed. For the first time in a long, long time, the stress seemed to be lessened. The burden she bore on her shoulders seemed to be resting against something else for a change, and she felt lighter than she could remember, buoyed by the happy change in her life. Suddenly, change didn't seem at all as scary as it once had. Sometimes change could be good. Very good, she thought to herself as she looked over at Draco spreading butter over a slice of still warm bread.

The stew was rich and delicious, and though it was still warm outside, it seemed like just the thing to eat. The bread was soft and faintly sweet. She took great mouthfuls of pumpkin juice, feeling a pang of nostalgia for Hogwarts. She only allowed herself to wonder briefly if she would ever get her seventh year. It had been her choice, after all. Right now, she could be studying in the common room, or… dare she even hope? She could be studying in her own private room, the one specifically designed for the Head-girl. It was a destiny that seemed so far away from where she was now, eating comfortably with Draco Malfoy. A year ago, this would have seemed an impossibility. Now, it was simply life.

Dessert was next. There was a platter of chocolate cream cakes, and Hermione took great care for choosing just the right one, with cream falling out of the sides and extra chocolate drizzled over it's top. It was sticky and messy and perfect, in her opinion. She rarely let herself indulge in such decadence, but today, it felt appropriate.

Draco watched as she picked out a cake, the white filling already covering her fingers. She licked them, eyes closed in pure bliss. Hermione was quite unaware of the effect she was having on him, innocently eating her dessert. Chocolate was on her bottom lip, and a small, pink, kitten tongue darted out to catch it. What he wouldn't have given to be that chocolate.

He groaned and Hermione paused, then swallowed. "Are you alright?"

"Er.. Yes.. Just a little full, that's all." He said gruffly, looking away pointedly. Draco wasn't eating any dessert. He wished she would finish that damnable cake soon, or she might just be the death of him. His trousers were tight and uncomfortable. He shifted, trying his best not to look back. The temptation was too great, though, and he snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye just as she was sucking the last of the chocolate off one of her fingers, making a small, happy humming noise. He groaned again, but smoothly turned it into a yawn, covering his mouth.

How had he not noticed? How? All these years, he could have been looking over at her from the Slytherin table, watching her enjoy desserts. He envied the Gryffindors. Briefly. They were still Gryffindors, and therefore supremely inferior to himself. He lay his hands in his lap, trying to push the hardness down in the most covert way possible. She had to know what she was doing. Didn't she?

Hermione did not, in fact, know what she was doing. All she knew was that she had just eaten the best cake of her life. She did not know that she had just eaten the best cake of Draco's life, too. She leaned back, rubbing her stomach. "I ate too much.."

All Draco could think was, 'Oh, no, Miss Granger, you most certainly did not." He smiled wickedly at her, teenaged boy-thoughts coursing through his head. At that moment, however, the door crashed open. Ron and Ginny were supporting Harry, who was covered in blood. It dripped in rivulets down his face, over his arms and, dear Merlin, seemed to be seeping from his chest. Ron and Ginny, too, were covered, but to a lesser extent, as they could still walk.

"Help! We have to get him upstairs!" Ginny was frantic with pain and anxiety. Harry made a low gurgling noise that might have supposed to have been words. Hermione was on her feet.

"Draco! Help!" She took Ron's place. He stumbled backwards, face grey with shock, and slid down the wall to a sitting position. Draco hurriedly took his place on Harry's other side, his previous excitations completely forgotten for the moment. The four made their way upstairs haltingly, pausing when Harry cried out in pain or wobbled.

They made it to his room and Harry was deposited as carefully as possible on his bed. Hermione turned to Ginny who was trying to staunch the blood flow with the sheet. Draco was tearing pieces of the sheet off, wrapping them around the worst of the cuts on Harry's arms. He wasn't thinking about who he was helping. He was only thinking that the blood that was covering his hands could have been his own. It could have been Hermione's. He owed Harry. He was doing his best to settle that debt. And dammit, Harry had better live, or Draco would die with his debt left unpaid. Malfoys always paid their debts.

"Harpies!" Ron's voice was high and panicked from the doorway. No one knew when he had made it up the stairs. "They were everywhere! Harpies!" He sank to the ground again in a dead faint.

"He's not so hurt as Harry. He'll heal.." Ginny hadn't moved from Harry's side. Hermione was muttering charms for healing as quickly as breath would allow. Suddenly, Harry screamed.

He lay quite still, quite silent on the bed. Ginny let a tiny, gut wrenching sob tear from her throat before she fell to the floor, her hand still clutching Harry's tightly. Draco felt the stew climbing back into his throat and swallowed hard, repeatedly. Hermione just stood there at the foot of Harry's bed.

"_Phoenix Lacrima…_" She muttered, then ran from the room.

**A/N: What do you think, dear readers? Have I drawn you in? Please, please tell me what you think. I have some very special surprises planned for later on in the story that I can't -wait- to get to. Oh, and Phoenix Lacrima means Phoenix Tears in Latin. Apparently, Phoenix is the same in English and Latin. Yay. BTW... don't hate me for the cliffy.. I know I mentioned it earlier, but.. well.. Please?**


	9. The smell of blood

**A/N: Alright, I know it's been ages and ages… but let me explain. A brief summary of my life and why it's been so long. I got pregnant. I got married. I got divorced. I had a baby… who is the light of my life! And now, after having been a single mom for some time, I've found someone and am planning a wedding. Anyone who's ever planned a wedding, had a baby, or a divorce knows how much time it takes out of your life, not to mention working. But, I hope you enjoy and I hope you can forgive such a lapse of time on such a crucial cliffhanger chapter. Also, I hope you review!**

Suddenly the house was filled with sobbing and unsaid fears and the terrible smell of blood. Hermione was covered with blood in various stages of congealment and drying, her fingers sticky with it. She rubbed her hands on front frantically, both trying to clean them and stop the shaking. It wasn't working. The book was there, in front of her. She didn't bother to sit, though she desperately wanted to. It felt as though she'd been hit with the worst jelly-leg curse imaginably. Briefly, she wondered if she'd ever stop shaking, inside or out. Phoenix Lacrima, she muttered like a charm under her breath, hoping for the ability to find the potion, to make the potion quickly and correctly.

She had to breathe deeply, close her eyes, and pretend that this was a test in Potions. This was NEWTs, that's what she was doing. If she didn't allow herself to think that her friend's life depended on her ability to make a potion, then she would be able to do it. The ability to perform under pressure was something she prided herself on, but this was too much. She went away inside her head and entered school mode. Hermione flew from shelf to shelf, gathering the ingredients, the utensils and set about making the potion. Thank Merlin it didn't need to stew for a month or have fresh ingredients gathered at the first night of the full moon or other special requirement. Perhaps that's because the inventor knew that it would be needed in an emergency, to employed in quick fashion.

It was a cold-brewed potion, more of a solution than a true potion, and thank Merlin for that, too. In Hermione's current state, she might have set the whole house on fire accidentally, and then they would all be dead. It felt as though hours dragged on, but she had no idea exactly how long it had been in all actuality. The liquid, clear and odorless, was finished finally and she flipped to the table for dosage. A complex mathematical equation was there. Foul words rushed up her throat like vomit and then flew from her mouth without pause, without meaning, as she pushed her brain to its limits trying to remember how to do it. Harry's weight, that's all she needed. She rushed back to the room, flew in, her wand at the ready and aimed at Harry's chest. The room didn't seem to notice. Draco was still standing over Harry's bedside, brow furrowed as he pressed with shaking hands on the deepest laceration. He was grey, but nothing compared to Harry. Drool and blood trickled from the side of his turned head. His chest rose and fell in shallow, quick succession. It was worrisome beyond belief. She struggled to remember how to get a person's weight magically and finally procured the words in her mind. She formed them so strongly that she didn't need to say them out loud and worked her magic silently. In the air, she waved and flicked and the equation appeared with Harry's weight added. The answer hovered briefly, then flickered out of existence.

She raced back to the library, where she had made the potion. There was a cabinet filled with bottles, bottles of all sizes and shapes for all different amounts. She chose the one she felt would suit her best and measured out carefully, but slowly, the exact amount of drops that should work for Harry. With as much caution as she would have if she were balancing a cup of boiling tea on her head, she waded through the repugnant smell of blood and the sound of bereavement to Harry's room. It felt like days since she had begun the process that she hoped would save Harry's life.

"Ginny, I need you to stand up." Hermione spoke with as much authority as she could muster. "We don't have time to cry, no time to feel. Just… do it."

Ginny cut her wail short, stood shakily, clasping Harry's hand so tightly that it turned her whole hand white. "What do I need to do?"

"Turn his head, I need him to be able to swallow and if I do it with him turned, it'll just dribble out the side." She held the vial up as if in explanation. Ginny didn't understand; had no idea what was going on. She knew only that her heart was lying as if dead on the bed beside her, bleeding uncontrollably and unspeaking. She did as she was told and gently turned his head. Ginny kept her hands on either side of his face, wiping tenderly at the blood that had mostly stopped welling.

Draco couldn't force himself to look up. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to shower. He wanted to go away from all of this. He wanted to be back in the kitchen, watching Hermione lick cream from her fingers, he wanted, he wanted, he wanted…. but Draco was here. And tears rolled soundlessly down his cheeks. Fear… more than fear; terror, rocked him. Here was Harry. He was invincible. Even when he had loathed him (and Draco found that he didn't loathe Harry anymore, and wasn't sure how he felt anymore about anything), he had felt that Harry was invincible, untouchable. He could bleed, he was human, of course… but nothing could kill him aside from natural causes. That's just how life was. He had accepted it, had embraced it. That was how it was. But now, everything had changed, everything was upside down. Where the blood hell was Ron? This was his job, dammit! Draco continued to press with all his might, as though forcing some of his good fortune, his life force into Harry's skin, mixing it with the blood that flowed out of him and onto Harry.

Hermione bent and poured the liquid down Harry's throat and massaged it to help him swallow. For an instant, she was afraid he might burst into flames as a Phoenix does when its life has ended and never return. She was afraid it would scald or turn him into a toad or a million other unnamable possibilities. Instead, it did something she had had no ability to prepare for. Harry began to have a seizure.

His body straightened out, rigid as a board and Draco flew up, hands in the air as if surrendering. His head turned jerkily to the side as his eyes rolled up into his head, only the whites showing. White froth collected at his lips as his whole body arced and straightened, arced and straightened, his hands curled into claws and drawn up onto his chest. His feet pointed rigidly out from his body, and it looked as though his whole body were supported by his toes and shoulders. He rocked, made guttural, painful noises. It dragged on and on, Hermione's heart wrenching slowly out of her chest and then, it stopped. The room rang with silence.

Harry began to breathe normally, the blood stopped and the three watched as his wounds sealed themselves up. His posture loosened until it regained some semblance of naturalness. Harry was pale as a wraith, blood and froth and spittle mixing on his chin, but he was alive.

Hermione let a little sob tear painfully from her throat. It hurt, but she was relieved, "Merlin, Harry… oh, Harry…"

Ginny, threw herself across his chest and cried again, happily. "He's going to be okay!" Jubilant, refusing to believe that anything could take him from her now, not when he was breathing, when his body was healing. "He's… he's alive, Hermione… oh, he's alive. He's not dead. He's not dead." She repeated over and over, lowering her voice to a whisper.

Harry still did not move, didn't speak, just breathed and healed. "We… we have to wait. Just... wait."

"Hermione." Draco was hoarse and couldn't find the energy to clear his throat. "….Phoenix Lacrima?" That was all he could manage to get out of his mouth. So much more coursed through his head, but there was no way to organize it into recognizable speech.

She nodded. "We… we just wait, and hope."

Harry lifted his hand. Briefly, he touched Ginny's hair, caressed her so tenderly that it was heart breaking. He sighed, breathed something unintelligible, but it was enough to give them all hope. He let his hand drop to the bed. Ginny magicked a bowl of warm water and a cloth, began to clean him and talk softly as Hermione led Draco from the room by the hand. "We still need to see to Ron. And they need to be alone. We can do nothing more for Harry."

They managed to get out into the hall and close the door behind them. Hermione took three steps and then the weight of what had just transpired fell against her. Suddenly, she wasn't at school anymore and her friend had almost died, had in fact had a massive seizure in front of her and she had no way of knowing how complete his recovery might be. She looked over at Draco, said, "I think I need to sit down," and promptly passed out.

Draco caught her under one arm and eased her to the ground, just as Ron ascended the stairs. His eyes widened as Hermione fell to the floor, spread eagle and almost wanton. His face, which had been as grey as Draco's just a moment before, flared red. "You!" he shouted, and ran full force at a very stunned, in shock Draco.


	10. Of Heart To Hearts And False Starts

**Of Heart To Hearts And False Starts**

**A/N: **Hello all! I'm back with another installment of The Best Laid Plans! I really would love some reviews… I'm rather disappointed that no one reviewed that last chapter. I really thought that I'd get at least one. But, alas, no. Anyway, I'm hoping you enjoyed it and will continue to enjoy my fanfic until its completion and possible sequel. As always, nope… not making any money. These aren't even my characters. I just have fun putting them in fun situations for everyone's amusement.

"Me?" Draco said weakly, his brain unable to comprehend why Ron was charging him, head down, like a bull about to gore a matador. He was even unable to move when Ron crashed into him, throwing them both into the wall. All of the frustration, the anger, the confusion exploded in Draco's head. He saw stars, either from the eruption of emotion of from the rather hard hit he took on the back of his head as he thudded audibly into the wall. He pulled his fist back and felt it crunch satisfyingly into Ron's jaw. Pain exploded through his fist, reverberating into his elbow and shoulder.

Ron's head jerked to the side and he growled, almost feral, and he was saying something, but Draco wasn't sure it was English. Guttural noises flew from his mouth with angry spittle. They might have been hexes, or curses, or even just swears. Ron punched Draco in the gut, and he doubled over, his air forcibly expelled from his lungs. They tussled weakly for a bit, neither one having much energy and the initial burst of adrenaline that the anger flooded them with was waning quickly. It took a lot of energy to remain at such a heightened state of emotion. Between the constant fear everyone felt, the recent attack, the demoralization of failure and Harry's near-death experience; they were worn completely out emotionally. Finally, Ron sat down on the ground, tears leaking from his eyes and rolling hotly down his cheeks.

"You didn't hurt me, Malfoy, just so you know." He said, defiantly jutting a rapidly bruising chin in the air.

Draco slid down the wall, his eyes closed. He raised a hand and moved it in a dismissive gesture. "Fine." He had only the energy left for one syllable words. Even that was a strain.

Ron looked over at Hermione who was sitting up in the floor, eyes wide, mouth pressed into a tight line of anger. Apparently, she'd seen most of the fight. She was now completely beyond words. She struggled to her feet, completely forgoing the attempt at grace (she knew it was futile), and simply walked away.

"I'm fine, thanks!" Ron called after her as she disappeared into her room. He strongly suspected that the glistening in her eyes wasn't anger, but unshed tears and at the moment, he didn't care if he was hurting her feelings. He fought the stupid ferret for her, for her honor, and she couldn't bloody say one thing to him, ask if he was alright. No. She just got up. Fine, if that's how she wanted to be, just fine. He flopped back on the floor, wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and sighed.

"Brilliant. Just… bloody brilliant." He left his hand over his eyes. Belatedly, and begrudgingly, he asked, "You hurt?"

"No." Draco opened one eye. "You?"

"No." He lied. He was hurt, but his physical wounds would heal. It was his heart that he was afraid would never beat the same again. He saw the look on Malfoy's face. He knew that look, saw it on Harry's face when he watched Ginny. He also knew that _he_ watched _Hermione_ the same way. The worst of it, however, was that Malfoy might be some kind of competition. Hermione had always had a way of taking in strays. That's what he and Harry had been. She even loved that ridiculous cat, Crookshanks, and it was almost as detestable as Malfoy. He couldn't deny that Malfoy was what a bird might call 'attractive', but for the love of Merlin's pants, there was more to a man than broad shoulders and a nice arse! Ron mused momentarily on himself, wondering for the first time in his life if _he_ had a nice arse. He decided quite definitely that his arse was much better than Malfoy's. At least he didn't have a broomstick fixed with a sticking charm up his. The image of Draco Malfoy dancing about, screaming like he had when he learned that a troll was let loose in Hogwarts, a piece of thick wood sticking out of his pants filled his head so completely that he had to laugh.

Draco opened both eyes to look at Weasley, lying on the ground, having had a sound beating, and laughing uncontrollably. He felt the edge of his mouth turn up and wanted to laugh, too, but completely unsure why. The absurdity of it, he supposed, but he suppressed the urge and instead, asked, "What's so funny, Weasley?"

"Nothing… nothing…" Ron gasped through his laughter. He couldn't possibly tell him what he'd been imagining. The laughing subsided as quickly as it had come upon him and he sighed as he sat up. "You… you like her, don't you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at his opposition, thinking rapid fire about how he should respond, if he should respond. He still didn't have the energy to get up and go check on Hermione. There would probably be a row. He'd seen the look on her face, and previously, he'd only ever seen it aimed at Weasley, there, but… he had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to be in the line of fire as well, this time. "I trust her." Is all that he said.

"You… you _trust_ her?" Ron cocked his head, rubbing his cheek for the first time. It was painful and hot to the touch. He doubted that Hermione would fix it for him. Ah, well. Another battle scar. Trust. He trusted Hermione. This… could be very, very bad. Because if he trusted Hermione, that must mean he had a reason to. Aside from the fact that Hermione was a trust worthy person, he had to have a reason, had to have talked to her. Really talked to her.

"Do. You. Like. Her." He asked again, slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Are you going to hit me again if I tell you the truth? Because I really don't have it in me to have another go at you. I'm very tired, Weasley." He sounded bored, but in truth, he was wrung out. He wasn't used to having to analyze emotions so much. Gryffindors were very emotional creatures and it wore on him.

"If you don't answer me, I'll beat you senseless when I can stand up again." His threat was somewhat less scary when modified with 'when I can stand up again'.

"I do, Weasley. Like her, I mean. She's quite fun to fight with." He smiled then, a predatory smile. He was admitting it to Weasley, telling him that he did 'like' Hermione. He was testing the waters. He wondered what his face would look like if he told Weasley about watching her eat that dessert, or how she kissed, or what she felt like when she napped on his chest. Probably contorted in rage. Emotional Gryffindors. They were so easy to goad.

"I don't trust you. I've been in love with her for ages. I've called dibs. You back the hell off and we'll be fine." Ron pointed a finger at Draco's chest, but was unable to poke him threateningly as he didn't have the energy to move forward. But, he was sure that Malfoy got the idea.

"You can't just… 'call dibs' on her, Weasley. It's not as if she's the last piece of cake or the front seat on a broomstick when you ride double. She's a person, if you remember." He was scathing. Hermione was a person, for Merlin's sake. How do you call dibs on a person?

Ron fumed and shook his head, "You can't. Just leave her alone. You'll just hurt her. I'm meant to be with her."

"Since when? I've never heard of a Prophecy that says that a red-headed git must marry a beautiful, intelligent and deceptively innocent Gryffindor or the world will end. That's bollocks." He could feel his ire rising again, but really, he just wanted to go to Hermione's room and nap. Then, once he was refreshed, he could fight with her, fix everything, and they'd go on about their business of taking down the Dark Lord. So much easier than this conversation.

Ron was fumbling for words in his head and when none suited him, he could only growl angrily.

"Most eloquent argument, Weasley." Draco sneered, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure Hermione loves that you're such a charming conversationalist most."

"Listen, Malfoy, I'm just going to tell you this. If you hurt her, I will kill you. I won't think twice about it. I never wanted you here in the first place. It's your fault that Harry's in there. It's your fault we were attacked. Hermione would have seen it and we might've been able to handle the harpies if she were there! I don't want you here, no one does! Hermione's vulnerable. And she wants to fix you, like a broken chair. You're just a project to her. Don't ever think you're more." Ron pushed himself up with a visible effort, every muscle and sinew in his body aching and screaming in protestation. He strode to Harry's room, the tension in him radiating out like ripples on a calm pond.

Draco didn't want to admit it, but that stung. He felt sure that whatever was happening between himself and Hermione was more than that. He couldn't be 'just a project'. He wasn't going to be turned in for a grade at the end of the year. What he'd felt when he touched her hand, kissed her lips, smelled her hair… that was real. He'd seen it on her face and knew that she felt something very real, too. Nothing Weasley said was going to dissuade him from thinking that, but a tiny seed of doubt had been planted in his heart now. He had been let down so many times before in his life, most of all by himself. He would need to guard himself even more, though he'd rather just go sink into her arms and sleep. He winced as he stood, raked his hands through his hair and decided that the wall was most definitely harder than his head. Hermione's door was left ajar and light spilled onto the dark carpet like a negative of an ink stain.

Draco stood by it and heard soft snuffling. She was crying. Brilliant. He had never been very good at fixing that problem. When Pansy had cried, which was when she wanted something, he just bought it for her. Simple fix. He doubted Hermione was crying because she wanted new dress robes or a necklace she saw in a window. He couldn't buy his way out of this one. Dammit. He walked in quietly.

"Hermione?" The name was still unfamiliar on his tongue, but it was nice to feel he was able to say it anyway.

"What do you want?" It wasn't harsh, or even angry, just defeated. That was more disturbing than angry. Suddenly, he wished she were angry at him.

"To see if you're okay."

"I'm not. Now, go away."

Instead, he sat down on the edge of her bed. She was laying on her side with her back to him, curled up in a little ball.

"Harry's going to be okay." He tentatively laid his hand on her calf, trying to be tender and supportive, things that were _very_ unfamiliar territory.

"I think so." She answered curtly.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying." Hermione paused, "my eyes are leaking."

"Then why are your eyes leaking?" He smiled faintly. Absurd. Were all women so strange?

"I heard you two. I wake up, laying on the floor, everything on display," she paused, rolled onto her back and eyed him suspiciously as though she thought he might've arranged her limbs in that pattern so as to get a better look-see at her. "And then you two are at each other's throats. Like always." She sighed, sitting up and scooting up so her back was against the ancient headboard. "I just realized that some things will never change and that's not always a good thing."

"Hey. We did just have a nice little chat." He tried to smile encouragingly, but his hair was mussed, his clothing was ripped here and there. The effect was a bit disturbing.

"I heard part of that, too." Her eyes darkened with anger. "The nerve of him! DIBS! Oooh.. sometimes, Ronald Weasley makes me so mad!"

He patted her leg, afraid to come much closer in case she turned her rage toward him. "I told him he couldn't call dibs. Besides, I'm calling dibs, now." He shrugged and smiled a genuine smile. This time, the effect was much better. A Hugh Grant kind of charming.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking at him shrewdly. "And what makes you, Draco Malfoy, think that _you_ can call dibs on me when Ron can't?" She crossed her arms over her chest. Sure, they'd kissed, but they certainly hadn't had any sort of conversation about whether they were an item. That thought rocked her. An item. With Draco Malfoy? That was insane. Wasn't it?

"Because," he thought fast, "You kissed me. Obviously, you can't resist my charm, good looks, quick wit, and intelligence…"

"So modest," she cut into his sentence.

"And if you can't resist me now, when I'm not even trying to seduce you, well… obviously, it's only a matter of time before you fall into my lap and beg to be my girlfriend." He smiled brightly, toothily. Draco hoped she knew that he was trying to lighten the mood the best he knew how.

Hermione laughed. "Oh? See, the way I remember it, was you begging to kiss me, trying desperately to touch me…" The memories clouded over her eyes and she felt a warm blush rising in her body. She wasn't a prude, per say, but she was inexperienced. Saving the wizarding world and getting all O's on your tests didn't leave much time for romance.

"A Malfoy never begs." He stood up, pushed her over on the bed, sat down next her and kissed her full on the mouth. His hand gently cupped her cheek, pulling her face into his more. His fingers slid down her neck and tangled themselves in her hair. It was soft, very soft. He broke away slowly, his lips lingering on her. "We take what we want."

She didn't move away from him, but whispered, "And do you want to kiss me… or do you want me?"

Draco backed away far enough to look her in the face. Certainly, she didn't mean it the way he thought. "Ah…"

She shook her head and started to get off the bed, "Fine.. I knew you wouldn't want a relationship. I knew that."

"Oh! Oh!" Draco shook himself, "That's what you were talking about! Oh, that's fine, then. Yes, of course I want you." He laughed, pulling both hands through his hair. For a moment, he had thought Hermione was offering herself to him, like some virgin sacrifice.

Hermione eased back down, frowning in confusion, "Well, what on earth did you _think_ I meant?" It still hadn't hit her that Draco Malfoy had been so blasé about yes, he did want a relationship with her, of some sort. The parameters hadn't been discussed, but certainly this wasn't the time.

Draco laughed again, a genuine laugh and it always made her warm. Strange how circumstances can completely change the way you see a person. "I rather thought you were…" he thought about how best to phrase it, "offering yourself to me."

Hermione began to laugh, "What kind of woman do you think I am, Draco Malfoy?"

"The randy kind?" He smirked.

"That… is neither here, nor there." She paused, cocking her head to the side. "Did I just hear you say that, yes, you would like to try some kind of relationship with me?"

"What did you think this was, Granger?" He teased, "I don't just go snogging girls I have no real interest in." Okay, so that wasn't entirely true. He was a teenaged boy. But this time, he did have a genuine interest in his particular snogging partner.

Hermione snorted, "That's not what I heard."

"Hermione Granger, I didn't take you as one to gossip! Perhaps I don't know what kind of woman you are, after all. Maybe you _were_ offering yourself to me," he said playfully. "And you, of all people, should know that not all gossip we hear is true. Unless you really were boinking Potter and Krum at the same time. In which case, I certainly do not want a relationship with you."

"You read Witch Weekly, too?" Hermione sighed. Would that retched Skeeter woman never stop haunting her?

"Maybe." In truth, it had been Pansy reading aloud to everyone in the common room. But he had certainly heard most of the undeniably untrue stories, amusing as they were.

"I'll have you know that Harry Potter and I have never been and never will be more than friends. And I certainly never… ah.. boinked" her face flushed red, "Viktor Krum."

"You just said boinked." Draco pointed out, smirking.

"So did you!" Hermione said, half plaintively.

Draco laughed and kissed her again, this time on the tip of her nose. "So, are we agreed, then?"

"Agreed on what?" Hermione wanted to know.

"That you are now my girlfriend and Weasley has absolutely zero chance of getting into your knickers." Draco said, completely earnestly.

"Ron never had a chance of getting into my knickers, as you so politely put it. And yes, I think we are agreed. I'm… ah, I'm your girlfriend." A sudden bout of shyness rose in her, but only momentarily. She supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. "But perhaps we shouldn't go shouting it from the rooftops, just yet?"

Draco agreed, more enmity among the ranks could do nothing but hinder their ability to work together.

"Now, I'm going to nap, Granger, and you are going to lie next to me and keep me warm. Understood?" He spoke haughtily, but they both understood it was meant playfully.

"Absolutely not, Malfoy. _I_ will lay here and nap, and _you_ will keep me warm. That's the boy's job."

"I never thought to hear you say that a woman can't do something that a man can. Alright, if you're admitting I'm better than you are, then I'll be happy to warm you, Granger." He smirked, again.

"I never said that! I could keep you warmer than you could keep me!" She curled around him, thinking 'that'll show him'. Until she realized, a little belatedly, that had been his ploy all along.

"You are such a Gryffindor. Now, let's just.. sleep for a bit. Shall we?"

They both drifted off quickly, their bodies unable to keep from shutting down.

Ginny was sleeping next to Harry, her head on his chest and Ron was sitting in his own room, looking at his hands. He'd cleaned himself up, mostly. Perhaps he should go to Hermione and talk to her, warn her… apologize. There was always something he should say he was sorry for with her. But she was right. He got up and began walking the silent hallway toward her room.

**A/N: As always, please REVIEW! I need to know you still want me to continue, or this might fall to the wayside in favor of my continuing Coloured Grey. **


	11. What's Worth Having

**What's Worth Having**

**A/N: **Alright, so, I've only had this particular chapter out for less than a day, but I've been overcome with plot bunnies. No reviews yet, but I certainly hope this will change, otherwise I'll just continue to write this for me and assume that no one wants to read my stuff anymore. Though, I'd love to hear someone say something! Anything? Please? I live for reviews. Really, I do!

Hermione and Draco were sleeping peacefully and quite dreamlessly after an incredibly difficult day. Hermione had an arm thrown over Draco's chest and a leg thrown haphazardly across one of his. Draco's arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her to him and his cheek resting on the top of her head. The pair looked cozy, comfortable, and very intimate, as though this were an every day thing. Hermione smiled in her sleep and snuggled closer to Draco, sighing softly.

Ron's eyes welled up with tears. He felt like vomiting, like raging at them both. Betrayal rocked through his body and made his legs rubbery with it. He hadn't felt this betrayed since he had been convinced Harry had indeed put his own name in the Goblet of Fire to spite him. In retrospect, it seemed silly. This, however, was anything but a laughing matter. Instead of waking them, instead of yelling and hitting Draco Malfoy until his face was a bloody pulp, instead of berating Hermione he did something unthinkable. He closed the door quietly and left. This was a matter that he didn't trust in his own hands.

Ron, instead, made a quick floo call downstairs to the Order, called a meeting. He said it was of the utmost importance and that they should congregate there, in Grimauld Place that evening. He then went upstairs to Ginny and Harry, sat heavily in a chair and let his head sink into his hands. He cried as he had not done since he was a child.

Ginny lifted her head. Harry was still sleeping, his breathing deep and even. He still didn't look healthy, or even well, but he looked so much better than when they'd dragged him up the stairs that she smiled at him, brushed her fingers over his cheek and looked to Ron.

"Ron…what's wrong? Harry's going to be fine, I know he is!" She whispered happily.

"It's not Harry." He sniffled, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, trying to stem the flow. "It's Hermione."

"Oh, Merlin… what's wrong?" Ginny had levered herself off the bed and was half way to the door when he stood up, face blanched.

"Don't. Don't go to her." Ginny looked at him confused, her hand on the door. "She's… in there. With Malfoy."

"What do you mean? Studying?" Ginny just wasn't getting it, or she didn't want to get it.

Ron's face darkened and he shook his head, "No… not studying. Not researching. They're sleeping."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Oh, Ron, please. I was napping just a minute ago. It's been a long, long day. She almost lost her best friend a little bit ago, and it was on her to save him. That has to wear on a girl."

Ron thought that perhaps cluelessness was a genetic trait. Surely, he'd never been this thick headed. He'd have to spell it out for her. "They aren't just… asleep. They're…" He looked like he was going to throw up, "cuddled up. Like you and Harry." He added pointedly, trying to get her to understand without saying the words that hurt him most.

"I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Hermione isn't like that. You know her. You've known her for six years, now." Ginny sighed, wondering if Hermione and Malfoy had finally broken the sexual tension that had been building between them. She had doubted anyone else saw it, but maybe Ron wasn't as dense as he pretended to be. Like selective hearing, maybe he had selective perceptiveness.

"Gin, just then, I talked to him. I talked to Malfoy. He likes her. He… he's going to hurt her. I just know it. He's playing her. She's going to end up humiliated." Frown lines gathered between his brows and he glanced out the door and swallowed visibly.

Ginny finally released the door and stepped back towards the room, "Did he actually say he was going to hurt her or humiliate her?" Somehow, it just didn't feel right. It ought to, but Ginny had seen penitence in his face when he'd shown up. It was a look she was familiar with. Her mother tended to bring it out in her brothers and she had grown very good at gauging what was sincere and what was only to get out of a punishment. His had been sincere, from what she could tell. There was always the possibility that she had seen wrong, but McGonagall seemed to think it was genuine as well.

"Well, what he actually said was that he trusted her and that I couldn't call dibs on her." Ron was indignant. It sounded silly when he said it out loud.

"You can't call dibs on her, Ron! That's just stupid! And he should trust her." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, glancing over at Harry to check on him. He was still breathing fine.

"He said he _liked_ her, Gin. He's going to do something terrible to her!" Ron heard an unflattering whine to his voice, but didn't care. He was trying to impress upon her that this situation was quickly becoming uncontrollable.

"If he likes her, well then… good. He's human. I'm glad he's finally seeing that. I'm sorry your feelings are hurt, but if he's being genuine I just can't see the problem with it." Ginny returned to Harry's bedside.

Yet another betrayal for Ron and his heart hurt, his throat had a huge lump in it and he was completely at a loss for words. He sat down and was quiet for a minute, then muttered in a child-like whine, "But he doesn't. He just _can't_. And she can't like him. We're supposed to be together. That's how it's always supposed to've been."

"Do you think Hermione is a character in a book? (C'mon, readers. You know it's funny!) Is there a script she's following? Why is her life dictated by what you want, Ron? We can't always get what we want. You should know that by now." She glared at him.

"You got what you wanted." Ron pointed out.

"You're absolutely right, Ron. I always wanted to spend years having my heart break every time I saw Harry with a crush on some other girl. I always wanted to have it break, knowing that he was out there, somewhere, in mortal peril, risking his life to save everyone else's. I always wanted to be stuck away in this stupid house with you and be afraid every night for my family and have him break up with me. I always wanted to just sit about and wait on him, to wait on him to know that I'll be here." She rambled, her angry tirade said at a whisper so as not to disturb Harry. It wasn't his fault and she wasn't really angry at him. She was angry at the situation. "Yes, Harry and I are together, but it's not easy. Nothing is ever easy. Not anything that's worth having, anyway."

Ron knew she was right, but wouldn't have admitted it for all the gold in Gringotts. It wasn't easy. But this was worse. Hermione would never be his, because it looked like she was falling for Malfoy. The boy who had tormented them all for years, had helped bring Death Eaters in to Hogwarts. Had taunted her, personally, until she cried on many occasions. And now, she was cuddled up to him like none of that mattered. It should be him that was in there with her, his arms around her body and his lips she should be kissing. Instead, it was Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret.

The injustice of it all crashed down around him and he stood up and walked to the door. "By the way, Gin, I called a meeting of the Order tonight. They'll be here in a few hours. I'm having Malfoy taken away somewhere and some real help put in here to do the job right." It didn't matter what he had to do, he was separating Malfoy and his Hermione if it was the last thing he did. If he could just get her away from him, she'd see that she was supposed to be his.

"Ronald Weasley," Ginny said, sounding remarkably like her mother, "How dare you take away what little comfort that woman has? How dare you. You will do no such thing. Call for help, sure. I understand that. But you will not say one word against Draco Malfoy. Let her have what happiness she can find, temporary or not." Ginny knew she would need to have a serious conversation with her long time friend, and soon.

Ron simply walked out of the room without glancing at Harry or his sister. He was far too wrapped up in his own thoughts and a shower might help. He left to go do just that. The hot water would ease his muscles, wash the blood off, and hopefully, the memory of what Hermione and Malfoy looked like as they shared a bed.

Hermione snuggled closer, locking her leg around his tighter, clinging to him. She had always been a snuggler, reveling in the comfort of human touch. Draco woke a bit, and sleepily opened his eyes. He held her tighter, feeling hope rise in his chest. It was easier to be hopeful when he had her in his arms. He was hopeful he might redeem himself at last, become the man he wanted to be. Not what anyone planned for him. It seemed that he had control over his own destiny when he was being held so tightly but such a beautiful young woman. Especially when quite a bit of pale thigh was being exposed. If he could shift her just a little… he rolled closer to her and watched as her skirt rode up to show the very edge of white cotton underwear. He smiled and chuckled to himself. Here he was, admiring Hermione Granger's choice in underwear, lying in bed with her. He could have guessed she would have chosen plain, white, cotton underwear.

Hermione muttered softly and licked her lips. Draco hugged her tighter and moved slowly to pull the covers over them, snuggling down deeper. Hermione muttered again and Draco leaned down to her to try to hear what she was saying.

"What was that?" He whispered, trying to prompt her to reply.

"Mmm… love you." She roughly shoved her hand into his hair and tangled her fingers in it as she fell back into sleep.

Draco chuckled again and would have shaken his head if her hand hadn't been so firmly affixed in it. He fell happily back to sleep for a while. It wouldn't be until later that he would finally assimilate what she'd said to him in her sleep and react to it.

It was a couple hours later when Ginny knocked quietly on the closed door to Hermione's room. There was no response, so she knocked louder. There was still no response, so she banged as hard as she could. There was a squeal of surprise, a light smack and muttered conversation.

"Oh, enough of that, you two!" Ginny threw the door open and stood there, looking at the sight.

Draco was lying, shirtless on the bed. It seemed he hadn't really moved, except for maybe to fold his arms behind his head. Hermione had dragged the covers up above her chest, her hair a wild halo around her. She was fully clothed, pale, and looked just mortified.

"Hermione, please… just.. calm down. Put the blanket down. I know you're not naked. And you, Draco Malfoy, stop looking so pleased with yourself, will you?" He didn't have the good sense to look even the least bit abashed.

"I thought I'd let you know that Ron came to check on you and well, you can imagine what state he was in when he looked in on…" She spread her hands to indicate the two sharing a bed. True, it was innocuous and completely innocent (on Hermione's part, at least), but it was still a shock to Ron. "He's… upset."

"Oh, Merlin." Hermione dropped the covers and hopped out of the bed, trying to smooth her hair down out of habit. There was simply nothing for it and she gave up trying to fix it and instead tugged at a few strands nervously. "What did he do?"

"He came to Harry's room and tried to convince me that we ought to toss Malfoy to Azkaban. While I think that's a bit extreme, he feels betrayed, whether or not it's justified. He still had it in his head that you were going to wake up one day and be in love with him, Hermione." Ginny sighed, her heart heavy for her brother and feeling more weary than any 16 year old had the right to be. "He's hurt. And I'm fairly certain that there's going to be a meeting of the Order tonight. I think Ron's really going to try to get him thrown out." She nodded toward Draco who had finally stood up and was putting his shirt back on. He was turned away from them both and scowled at his buttons.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. This was ridiculous, insane. She felt defeated before the real battle had begun. "Alright, then. I suppose I ought to go talk to him?" She looked at Ginny for confirmation. Ron might still be too angry to have a rational conversation. She, herself, stayed angry for a very long time and understood that it was sometimes difficult to let things go.

"Not right now, I think. Later, but before the meeting starts. If you need to talk, Hermione, I'll be right in Harry's room." Ginny didn't know what else to say. She, too, felt lost. So, she left to wait for either the meeting to begin, Hermione to come talk to her, or for Harry to sit up and ask for something to eat.

Hermione turned to Draco, looking guilty. "Oh, don't go giving me that face, Granger. It's not my fault he reacted that way, nor is it yours. Weasley just… doesn't know when to give something up as a bad job." Draco continued to scowl, but this time at his hands as he fidgeted with buttons that were already secure in their stitched holes. "He's your friend, yes, but he has to understand at some point that you are not in love with him. And that's just how it is. Harsh? Maybe. Necessary? Completely."

Hermione shook her head, feeling as though she ought to cry but that she was cried out. There were no more tears, no room left for more anguish or self deprecation. "I just wish he wasn't so hurt. It's not as though I led him on, let him think that there was a chance for us to be anything more than what we are."

Draco stopped scowling and moved to her, putting his hands on either of her shoulders. "Listen, Hermione. I'm sorry that _you_ are sorry that Weasley's upset. I have nothing vested in him, so I can't honestly say that I care. But I care because you do. And if it makes you upset, then tell me what to do and I'll fix it."

Hermione smiled up at him tremulously. It was painfully obvious that he was trying to make her happy and he in fact, did make her happy with just the sentiment. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "Thank you. I'm not sure what can be done. But my father always used to say that time heals all wounds. I suppose I'll just have to let time do its magic and try to earn his trust back."

Draco smiled wryly. His father used to have lots of helpful little phrases, none of which were applicable to this situation. He doubted they would ever have a place in his life again. He continued to hug her, resting his cheek against hers. Soon, they heard people arriving downstairs. Molly Weasley announced her presence with wall-rocking "Harry, dear! Oh, HARRY! RON! Ginny!" She yelled the names of her children as she all but flew up the stairs. Draco and Hermione broke apart, looked into each other's face and took what strength they could from one another silently. This would be a difficult night.


	12. Fever Dreams and Hopeful Things

**Chapter 12**

**Fever Dreams and Hopeful Things**

**A/N: I know, I know… it's been a long, long time. Again. Well… crap happens, people. I've been working my butt off and that takes away all my time for Harry Potter fanfiction. BUT a new addition to my family is on his or her way and I'm taking time off work. Now I have time to add chapters! AND I have the whole fan fiction planned out, with an ending even! If I get enough of a response and people like this fanfic well enough, there's room for a sequel, even! No, I don't own the characters. Nope, no money from it, either. So, without further ado, the newest chapter of Best Laid Plans!**

The world flowed and changed around Harry Potter. He lay on his bed, head resting against a pillow. There was blood on his body. There was pain in his body. There was anguish billowing around him like a storm. Harry Potter was completely unaware of all of it. For a brief time, he knew pain. It was pain as close to the Cruciatus curse as anything gets… but it burned deeper. He remembered flashes of wickedly sharp talons. He had heard his flesh rip and things inside of him burst. The sound of his own ribs cracking echoed in the back of his head. After the viciousness of the attack, he had a moment of terrible realization: he was wounded mortally. Things inside his body were broken and in such a way that he was afraid even magic wouldn't be able to recover them. Harry was sure, for the millionth time in his life it seemed, that he was going to die.

This time, he wasn't alright with it. He hadn't made his peace. He was livid. Taken down by Harpies? Before the battle had even begun? Blinded by his own, selfish desire to return to his birthplace… and suddenly, even the anger was gone. There was nothingness. All around him, the world ceased to exist. There was no floor beneath his feet. There was no air to breath. There was no pain, no pleasure, no feeling of any sort. He faintly realized that there was no taste in his mouth and knew that even when you don't taste anything in particular, you still _taste_. The silence wasn't silence. It was a living entity that filled him up with a vast, not entirely unpleasant (but certainly disconcerting) blankness. He had a moment of being grateful for there being no pain. And feeling was born again into Harry Potter.

With feeling came trepidation, anger, weariness, suspicion, and good old bereavement. He grieved for his life, surely lost in such a stupid, meaningless way. He would have wept, if tears existed. And then, tears did. They flowed like a river from nowhere, flowed over a body they created, beneath his feet as he stood. Ankle deep in his own tears, his chest raw with sobbing and terror and confusion, Harry Potter was born again inside himself.

Things became. There was no other way to explain it. There was a world inside himself, indescribable things and impressions. It swirled and mutated and changed, rather like a lava lamp. It bubbled and boiled and foamed and frothed around him, ceaselessly changing. And then, Harry Potter became self aware. His hands were his own. His body was healed and bones mended and rent flesh melded together without a seam and infection fled from wounds. Harry Potter was alive and whole and uninjured.

The next thing he realized was that he might be alive and well, but he was not in Grimmauld Place. He was nowhere that he'd ever set foot in… but he had gone here before. He was inside himself, tucked away in a private corner of his mind or perhaps his soul. He'd seen this place when the Cruciatus had been placed on him before. Sometimes, when pain fills you up and spills over, you can't process it, can't define the pain anymore. Your brain locks up, shuts everything out in order to protect itself. He was here. And Harry Potter was again terrified.

Grossly magnified footsteps echoed around him on the water, and he knew it made no sense. Water shouldn't echo. The footsteps grew closer. He whirled around and saw a figure from his nightmares striding purposefully toward him, walking atop the water. Not even so much as a single ripple emanated from his... its… footfalls. The thing shifted and changed ceaselessly, like everything else in his makeshift world. The face molded and contorted, flowed from Riddle to Voldemort to the Quirrell creature to young Riddle to the terrified face of his mother to the red-eyed, triumphant face of Voldemort reborn to screaming, terrified faces of those he'd killed, to a snake-man creature… never pausing, moving, rippling grotesquely. Bile rose in Harry. Fear, beyond any manner of fear he could ever have believed possible filled him up entirely. He cried in fear. He called for his mother. The impossible creature laughed and it was a terrible sound. Mocking laughter, laced with the screams of his victims, woven with the begging, pleading, sobbing for mercy… he heard his own mother's voice in there. Somehow, she was reaching out to Harry. He felt it, he stifled his tears. Another terrible revelation came to him. He was wandless.

This time, no wand materialized. He stared at his empty hands, familiar and rough and desperate to hold Ginny… oh, Ginny… How had he forgotten! She was there somewhere; he could hear her whisper somehow. He could smell her on the wind that blew suddenly in his makeshift world. Her smell overpowered the scent of flesh burning, of vomit and blood and fluids that should always stay inside a human. Still the creature moved, unrelenting. His tears stopped and the world around him was still, save the Thing.

He did the only thing he could think of. Harry held his hands up, palms out in a 'stop' gesture. Light filled his palms. The Thing halted, his step faltering almost imperceptively. Harry had seen the weakness flash. "Does this scare you?"

His voice was his own, reverberated in his chest and his heart began to beat in earnest. The Thing said nothing, continued to advance. It seemed to be taking a very long time to reach him from a short distance. Harry conjured up the things that braced him most in his life. Love, the love of his friends, his only family. Their faces flashed before him, swimming translucently. Ginny. Her smile bright and confident as they played two a side Quidditch. He smelled the air that day, heard the tree leaves rustle. He knew then, what would happen. He was bolstered by the Thing stopping, holding its hands that weren't hands up. It shifted faster, melting, reforming. It was humanoid and disgusting, the embodiment of all that revulsion is. It was bleakness and hopelessness. It was powerful.

Harry willed it and his hands pulsated with light, with love, with understanding. Finally, he understood. He _understood_. There were no words to his understanding, no words to record his great epiphany. It just was and that was enough for Harry. Light shot from his fingertips, great rays of light the color of orange juice. They looked solid in a way light never could, but still they were light. A gloom crashed down around him, a coldness seeping into his chest. Dementors, he thought briefly and then laughed. Nothing could touch him inside of himself. He was finally free. He was immortal here, but the Thing was not. The Thing was a foreign body, an invader and Harry was a white blood cell. He was going to eradicate this infection of his soul, once and for all. He would be victorious. As Harry Potter knew it to be true, so did the Thing. And the light hit the Thing and ate through its repulsive body, tearing at its torso. There was no screaming. Not at first. It was a messy process, messier than Harry thought it should have been.

The water that was his tears ran red, and then black with the vile fluid the Thing bled. Not blood. It was too inhuman for blood. It was whatever sustained evil, he supposed, as he watched the Thing collapse in on itself. As the husk, the shell, the cancer that it was decomposed on fast forward, the screaming began.

The world around him dissolved as fast as it was created, sucked and flipped and tucked into itself like a giant sinkhole. Harry felt himself swirling and being sucked into a void. "No!" he screamed, tearing at anything he could reach and finding only nothingness again. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He couldn't die now, not when it was over! Not when he was free again, when his body and mind and soul were his own for the first time since that night his parents were ripped from him, that damnable night a prophecy became self-fulfilled!

He sat bolt upright in the bed, pain flooding him. Light stung his eyes and tears burned as they fell. He screamed and wretched over the side of the bed, vomiting in the floor. Grimmauld Place was here, was solid and unchanging. The light was harsh, his mouth tasted sour and he coughed, spitting into the floor. He cried without shame. He gasped for breath. He fisted his hands in the sheets that were too real in his hands. Disorientation was an understatement. Pain, oh Merlin, his whole world was pain. And then Ginny was there, a wash cloth in her hands and a glass of water set next to the bed. She cleaned up his mess, and then sat next to him. Her face was tremulous. It was beautiful. It was radiant. She was perfection. Somehow, the light softened as he looked at her, his eyes greedy for the sight of her and he couldn't make himself touch her. He feared she'd crumble under his touch, a mirage.

She touched him. She held his face in her hands and kissed his sweaty forehead and laughed. Oh, what sweet, sweet laughter. Bells and angels would envy her laughter.

"You reek. Your breath is horrid. And I am so glad you're alive, Harry." She hugged him tight and cried, unashamed, his body real and solid under her hands. It was too good to be true.

As Harry opened his eyes, he saw more people in the room. Ron, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand surreptitiously, Hermione smiling, eyes bright with unshed tears with her head against Draco Malfoy's arm. Draco, himself, was beaming ear to ear.

"Hi." Harry smiled weakly, the pain either subsiding or his body growing used to it. He was not well and whole and uninjured, but he would not die. Suddenly, he was sure of it.

"You just kept screaming about how it couldn't be, kept screaming no. We… we thought… I thought that I had…" Hermione couldn't even finish her words. She thought she'd done something horribly wrong. Had given him too much. Draco wound his fingers through hers and squeezed briefly, but left their hands entwined. It was as much comfort to him as it was to her.

"Blimey, Harry… we weren't sure you were going to bounce back this time." Ron choked on his words and sat weakly in a chair near the foot of the bed, not daring to come closer.

"I'm hurt. It'll take a little time to mend, but I've got some ideas…" Harry smiled and even though it hurt for him to smile, it felt good. He had a plan. He knew where the Horcruxes were, he knew how to get them… he just needed to know how to destroy them. And he knew that with the people surrounding him holding him up, they would defeat this evil. They would come out on top. There was no way around it.

Molly made herself known from the doorway then, sobbing uncontrollably and since she couldn't squeeze Harry (he was too fragile, plus Ginny was aimed between him and anyone else protectively), she flung herself on Ron, crying into his shoulder. Ron patted his mum's hair and laughed a bit to himself. More of the Order stepped in, worry creasing their familiar features, tinged with relief.

Hermione looked around at them and saw for the first time, that there was a possibility they would win. She hadn't even realized it, but up until this very moment… she'd had almost no hope that four, now five, teenagers could take down Voldemort… even with the help of the wizarding world's most amazing people. She also, for the first time, had hope that she and Draco might have a chance at actually exploring this growing feeling between them during a time when she wasn't afraid that what was bringing them together were fear and anxiety and a desperate need to cling to warm flesh.

There was hope in the room. In this dismal, dusty, overcrowded house… suddenly, there was hope that the war would be won. With hope, all things are possible.


	13. The Line Between Life and Death

**The Line Between Life and Death**

**A/N: Alright, I know I posted a chapter last night, but I can't help it! I've got the bug again. There were already some views! I'm shocked and pleased! I promise that I'll be finishing this fanfic. It won't be falling to the wayside. But I would really adore some reviews. Tell me what you like about it, what can be done better. Oh, and a warning, readers? This is definitely lemonade. More sugar and flavoring than real lemon, but if steamy scenes offend you, then I'd skip parts of this. As always, I beg you to read, enjoy, and review!**

There was time for quiet and thankfulness, finally. And finally, there was something to be thankful for. A real direction was known, though not the specifics. Everyone trusted Harry's words that he knew what the Horcruxes were and where they were hidden. No one questioned. No one wanted to question. It was easier to believe and hope and ride on towards a real destination in mind than wandering aimlessly, following up on dead-end leads and misinformation. With a direction, morale seemed to skyrocket with the Order.

Downstairs in the great room of Grimmauld place, people were sipping firewhiskey or pumpkin juice and talking quietly, speculating with enthusiasm what Harry might have meant. No one knew because before the volley of questions could be tossed at him, both Ginny and Molly fiercely forced everyone from his sickroom, both proclaiming there would be time enough after Harry had had time to rest for a bit and gather his strength. Ginny remained while Molly shooed people away. Ron patted Harry's hand as he left. The dark look he threw at Hermione and Draco didn't go unnoticed by Harry, but he was far too weary to even begin to fathom what he'd missed. He was more interested in knowing how long he'd been gone for, what had happened in the meantime.

Ginny was only too happy to fill him in on the harrowing fight of the Harpies, the terror, the bravery of everyone involved. Spells flew left and right, the smell of burning feathers and shrieks of pain and outrage. She told him everything she could remember, though by the time her story got to them arriving at the sprawling manor house, she could remember only flashes and decided to skip them altogether. Harry didn't need to know what he'd looked like or that Ginny had lain with her head on his chest, quietly making peace with the loss of his life. He protected her from some information, the least she could do was the same for him.

After the gruesome details were spent, they sat quietly together, just touching each others' hands, thinking their own thoughts in a comfortable silence. Harry broke it after a few minutes. "Ron seems…" he wasn't entirely certain how to finish that statement. He was obviously worried for Harry, a state Harry was unhappy with. After all, his own damn fault for making his friends worry.

"Ugh…" Ginny lay back on the bed, upper body on Harry's legs. "You've missed a bit there, too." She told him about the fight in the hallway, about Ron calling dibs, about him finding Hermione and Draco entangled, cuddled up and napping.

Harry had had a suspicion something was changing in Hermione, but that was par for the course, wasn't it? Change needed to happen. People had to grow and evolve, otherwise they stagnated. They grew static. They faded from memory. Hermione was always changing. Sure, some core things stayed the same. Her generous spirit, her temper, her laughter all stayed the same. But likes and dislikes ebbed and flowed like the sea. That was normal and natural; something that was going to happen regardless of what battle was raging on around them, with or without their presence. But to hear that Draco Malfoy had somehow woven his way into her world like a crippling kudzu vine, had grown on her like a fungus… it both displeased him and piqued his curiosity. Maybe there was something he wasn't seeing about Malfoy.

Hermione's judge of character was impeccable. Harry knew he was weak when it came to grudges. Holding grudges wasn't strength, no matter how much holding onto anger sometimes made him feel strong. It blinded him to what could be. The thought that Draco Malfoy, would-be murderer of Albus Dumbledore, could be genuine and sincere enough to change (and change rarely comes easily) was disorienting. It was disconcerting. He worried about his friend's heart… both of them. Ron was so easily wounded.

Hermione was stronger by far than either Ron or Harry. Harry was modest enough to recognize that. She had to be stronger than either of them… she'd put up with their bullshit for longer than most would have. She saw through their bravado, knew when to push and when to back off (though that was a hard-won trait for her). Maybe she was seeing through to something in Draco Malfoy that needed to be pushed to grow. Malfoy could be an asset, if he chose to be.

It was in the choosing that worried Harry. He sat again in quiet contemplation, kissing Ginny's fingertips thoughtfully. He was trying to reserve judgment on the situation, trying to view it objectively and found that he was having a lot of trouble. He imagined Hermione marrying Draco Malfoy (Hermione Malfoy! Ugh!) and saw him as the pale, pointed boy on the train their first year. That same arrogant bratty spoiled little boy who knew nothing of his luck. He saw him as that terrified boy, screaming in the Great Hall after the troll had been released. Harry saw the glint of mirth in his eyes as he taunted Hermione until her head bent and tears rolled over her still-chubby cheeks. His chest rolled with conflicting emotions.

He wanted his friend to be happy. He wanted her to find what he had found with Ginny… he wanted everyone in the world to have a chance at finding that special, amazing person. He did not want that person to be Draco Malfoy. And Ron. Poor, poor Ron. He thought he was in love with her. More than thought, Ron knew he loved Hermione. They both did. Harry knew that Ron was confusing an admiration, tightness in his trousers, and genuine enjoyment of her company for romantic love. Theirs was a complicated relationship and one Ron insisted on making even more complicated. Harry knew both of his friends must be hurting in ways that had nothing to do with him. After all, even though he was the Chosen One, life would go on without him. He had faced his own mortality enough to know that.

He and Ginny sighed at exactly the same time with the same intensity. They looked at each other and laughed, Harry shrugging his shoulders. "I guess there's not much we can do about this, is there?" Harry asked.

"Oh, we could meddle, of course, love." Ginny sat up, pressing Harry's palm against her cheek. "We could. We could try and break her and Draco up, help Ron with his plan. It wouldn't make Hermione love Ron. It would depress her, confuse her and we'd be doing her an injustice. I trust that woman. She sees more than most people do, I think. She's so _smart_, smart in a way that doesn't happen often. She's not just good with her books, but she has a way of seeing the world that just… is different." Ginny shrugged this time.

"Would it do any good to get rid of Malfoy at all?" Harry still wasn't keen on him being around, item or not with Hermione.

"I think that ship's already sailed. We've established that he's useful. Another pair of capable hands should always be welcome. And I refer to my original point. _I trust Hermione_. If I can trust her and Draco can trust her, why can't you?" Ginny traced the lines of Harry's fingers absently.

"Draco Malfoy said he trusts Hermione?" Harry looked at her dubiously.

"Word for word. Told that to my brother. To his face, even. After they'd been at it." Ginny jutted her chin out, a go-to expression of defiance that she couldn't help.

"He trusts her…" Harry mulled it over. Well, of course Malfoy ought to trust Hermione. Of course he ought to. She _was_ brilliant, most brilliant witch to come out of Hogwarts in an age. She was too kind hearted and forgiving for her own good, though. That could get her into trouble.

"What do we do about Ron? Think he'll be able to function with him seeing them? I mean, seeing them… you know…" Harry swallowed, pressing thoughts out of his mind hastily. He knew what he and Ginny did. He did _not_ want to envision Hermione, a sister in all but blood, doing what Ginny did to him to Draco Malfoy. He did _not_ want to think about Draco enjoying it. Most of all, he didn't want to think that Malfoy would use it against her, hurt her with it.

"I have no idea about him, Harry. There are some times that I think Ron is the most steadfast creature I've ever known… and then he goes and does something to surpass unheard of stupidity and he surprises me again." Ginny smiled wanly, shaking her head. "Oh, he's not a stupid boy… just… blinded. He just wants so much to have _this_," she held their hands up, "that I think he'd do just about anything for it. Even convince himself that he's got it when he hasn't. You know how bull-headed he can be. The only one who can convince him that Hermione isn't the one for him is… Ron."

Harry had to agree, however grudgingly. "That still doesn't mean that Ron can be here and do this with Hermione and Malfoy being all snuggly." He said 'snuggly' with plain disgust. It was so childish, Ginny had to laugh.

"He'll have to get over it. And it isn't as though they're standing about, snogging for the entire world to see. They aren't half so bad as us, and I'm not even your girlfriend." Ginny frowned, pausing, "Although, Hermione hasn't said that they were officially an item yet, either. Smart girl. She's probably testing the waters. I know I had to." She grinned wickedly at Harry. "Take a taste of the milk to see if the cow's worth buying."

"Hey, now! Who're you calling a cow?" Harry playfully pushed her and she flopped dramatically over on the bed, the back of her hand placed dramatically on her forehead.

Meanwhile, Ron was downstairs, looking over all the faces in the room. All of them were familiar, smiling faces. He'd eaten with these people, fought with these people. He _knew_ them as so few people can really know one another these days. And two faces were missing.

The soothing babble of people discussing the upcoming meeting, wondering about tactics, how they'd organize the search if they knew the secret locations churned around him in a pleasant white-noise. The firewhiskey burned down his throat and steamed his chest. It coiled into a hard, cold knot in the pit of his stomach. His imagination was getting the best of him. Hermione, his Hermione and bloody Malfoy. Gone. Alone. His hands all over her, Hermione making little noises… Ron's anger gave way to something. It was defeat. He hung his head and stared into the bottom of his glass.

It was empty. Someone poured him another glass and Ron muttered thanks without even looking up to see who'd lent a helping flask. He drank some more and felt the prickle behind his eyes. He was a seventeen year old male who'd spent much of his life in emotional turmoil for one reason or another. He'd cried too much today already. His heart was leaden with the cold truth that he'd lost. He had lost her. Ron wasn't sure for how long he had lost Hermione. For all he knew, it could be forever.

He refused to imagine Hermione, bright and vibrant and happy smiling at Draco Malfoy the way that Gin smiled at Harry. Harry and Ginny made sense, for Merlin's sake! They made sense! They made sense the way he, Ron, made sense with Hermione! Wasn't that how their lives were supposed to play out? Go through childhood, watch each other grow, fight evil, destroy the evil, win the day, and win the girl. For the first time, he wondered if he, himself, might have the famed Hero Complex everyone said Harry might be harboring.

Suddenly, it sounded absurd. His life wasn't a fairytale. Life was never meant to be a fairytale. And it enraged him. Life was unfair and cruel in ways he had never fully understood until now. Tears burned his eyes and he refused to shed them. He shut his eyes against the onslaught and breathed deep. He drank some more.

A pleasant buzzing sensation filled his head and dulled the pain in his heart. He could breathe normally, the knot in his throat and stomach unclenched. He downed the last of his drink and leaned his head back against the chair and the alcohol swept him away in the way that it does. For a while, it wipes clean your pain. It dulls your senses. It eases heartaches and bad memories and fear. It gives you false courage. He reveled in it, so pleased with himself he could have rolled in it.

The talk rose slowly in speed and energy and he let it wash over him like a warm shower, enjoying for the moment his total inability to imagine what Hermione might be doing or having done to her, alone in a room with Draco Malfoy.

What was really happening to Hermione was nothing so romantic. She was not a character in a dime store Harlequin romance novel. She was not easily swayed by her feelings, nor anyone else's. Hermione was a woman driven by logic and Draco was severely testing that logic.

"I just can't see how this will ever work with Ron pushing…" Hermione rubbed between her eyes, feeling a wrinkle of doubt. Her fingers were laced through pale, strong fingers. Draco's thumb absently rubbed her palm.

"Why does he have any say at all in what we do?" Draco was fighting the urge to be angry, knowing good and well that anger would solve nothing in this case. He'd had his fill of anger for the day, anyway. He sounded tired.

"He doesn't, not really." Hermione sighed, "But even though I don't _love_ Ron, I love him. He's family. He's worried about my being hurt. "

"He's worried about losing you to me. He's worried that he's second best, again." Draco shook his head. "I've watched it for years. He's always in someone's shadow. Someone is always better at something than he is… and he thought that you were his answer to that, his way to be someone's number one."

Put that way, and Hermione had to agree that was a lot of what fueled Ronald Weasley; she had no choice but to agree. "I don't think he sees it that way, though. That may be a big part of it, but he does care about me. Even if it's not the way he's convinced himself he does. I've always been there for him. So little has been constant for him or Harry. But Harry has Ginny. She's not leaving him and he won't leave her. Ron is alone. Oh, he has his family… but you know all too well that family isn't always enough."

Draco closed his eyes. This was so not what he wanted to be happening. He wanted more kissing. More hands in her hair. He wanted her body molded to his, with or without clothing. He needed her next to him to help blot out the events of the day. Her mere presence helped dull it, make the pounding in his head ease, but he needed more of her. He concentrated on her voice.

"Hermione. You're amazing. How did I never see it before?" He wandered aloud to himself. "How do you have the energy for all this feeling?"

Hermione laughed, "I don't know. But I do and I can't turn it off. I'm afraid Ron won't take this laying down."

Draco grinned wickedly, "Will you take it lying down?" Oh, double entendre.

"If you mean, will I accept Ron being stubborn and cutting his nose off to spite his face, then no. I most certainly won't take it lying down, though I've no idea how to mend this particular broken fence. If you mean will I take _you_ lying down… then, the answer is probably, eventually." She said it straight faced (okay, maybe there was a hint of a smile tugging the corners of her mouth up). Draco's eyes widened and he licked his lips.

"Granger, you dirty, dirty bird." He pulled her to him, "I like it."

"I said eventually! Eventually does NOT mean you can rip my clothes off right now!" She laughed and swatted his hands playfully. He laid back, her body more on him than on the bed. She snuggled her face against his neck and breathed in the smell of him, felt his chest under her hands. Suddenly, she knew what all the fuss was about in the Astronomy towers. It would be so easy, so very easy to give into temptation. But she was hardly that kind of woman. She'd lose respect for herself, giving her virginity to the first person who struck her fancy.

"Does that mean tomorrow? Or the day after? I just want to know so I can mark it on my calendar." He laughed softly again, his hands roaming no farther than her back. Maybe they dipped to cup her bottom briefly. He reveled in the feel of her, the firmness of her, and the softness of her. He traced the concavities and convexities of her body with his hands, like a blind man trying to see her. He memorized every line of her body that she would allow him to. He pushed no father than he thought would be acceptable.

Finally, she leaned up and kissed Draco. He couldn't help his body's reaction. He ground upward against her thigh, groaning into the kiss. He was surprised and pleased when she moaned in return, grinding right back. Her fingers tightened on his shirt collar, their kiss becoming frantic. His hands shook as he found the soft, warm skin of her neck and brushed his fingers over her collar bone, dipping lower.

She responded by locking her ankle around his leg, pressing against the rapidly growing hardness between them. Something happens when humans are faced with death. We are hardwired to spread ourselves along the world, dandelion fluff in a vast yard. We seek to destroy destruction by creating life. Hermione was far from ready for _that_, just yet, but losing herself in the feeling of touch? Certainly she was ready, and ready to give parts of herself to someone that had been kept close.

Draco sat up a bit in the bed, panting, flushed. He looked at her, pleading in his eyes. The vulnerability, the sheer human emotion welling up on his face pushed Hermione over the edge. With a hastily thrown glance over her shoulder to make sure the door was closed, she sat up a bit and with shaking hands, raised the hem of her shirt up.

She was terrified. No one had ever seen her topless, unless it was dressing in the girl's dorm. She knew she didn't have large breasts, not like some of the girls. She wasn't as curvaceous as some. Draco had certainly been with more beautiful women than herself. What would he think of her?

Draco saw the hesitation, the self doubt. Hermione Granger, doubting herself. He never thought he'd see the day and knew that now was not the time to gloat. Now was the time to lend a helping hand. He took the hem of her shirt and whispered in a rough voice, "Raise your arms."

Without a word, she did as he asked. He pulled the shirt up and it stuck on her chin briefly. Not entirely romantic and seductive, but Hermione had no grand illusions of this part of life would be like. She rarely had grand illusions about anything.

She sat there in jeans and her bra, white lace, blushing from the roots of her hair to the rim of her jeans, oh, god… the rim of her jeans. Draco made a small animal noise in the back of his throat, thanked Merlin for this moment, and drew her to him. The lace was scratchy against his suddenly bare chest. When had that happened? He didn't even remember taking it off. Hermione, too, seemed to want the skin-to-skin contact and was struggling to take it off. This, he'd had lots of practice at and reached back with deft fingers to help. Within an instant, the bra was gone and lying who knew where in the floor, among other clothing.

Her breasts were small, but full, with delicate pink nipples. Without pausing to think, he scooped her up into his lap, cupping the sides of them in his hands. Hermione closed her eyes, mouth parted slightly. The sight of her, bare breasted, in his lap was enough to push him close to the edge. He was so hard he hurt. He couldn't move too fast or he'd end this. The patience was pain and pleasure and god, it was hard to think clearly. She looked down at him, positively mewling with anticipation.

"My god, woman…what are you doing to me?" Draco had the clarity of mind to wander aloud before he brushed his thumbs across her nipples. The stood erect with surprising quickness. They begged to be licked, sucked. He couldn't refuse her body its desperate need. He bent his head to her chest, taking one, then the other into his hot mouth.

Hermione had never known such reckless abandon. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. And Merlin, his mouth was hot and his tongue! Oh, his tongue! What was he doing? It didn't matter then, as he very lightly nibbled one nipple. She raked her hands through his hair, pressing his head to her chest tighter. Draco shifted Hermione until she was full on straddling him so he could press up against her. He thought to seek relief, but only more painful pleasure came from her weight so tantalizingly close to his hard length was to be found.

Her breasts were in his mouth, her back smooth under his hands. Her hands were in his hair and he had never found such amazing intensity, such true affection. It made the actions of their flesh together seem… so much more than anything that had happened before.

She ground down into him, softly speaking his name against his ear, "Draco. So good…yes." It was more coherent than he would have been able to say, if his mouth hadn't been full. He grabbed her hips roughly, pushing her down harder as he thrust upward. She could feel him between her legs. She was so incredibly turned on; the pleasure was like a pain flooding her core, seeking any kind of release.

Draco pulled his head back, flicking his tongue against her nipples, "I have to have more."

"I can't…oh...I want more…" Hermione wasn't sure how to have more, exactly, but she knew she would not be having sex. Not today. Not with anyone.

"No sex... just… more." Draco's voice was rough, his fingers playing across her breasts.

"More." She agreed, hunger in her eyes.

Draco moved her from his lap with a regretful expression, his hands off her breasts for as long as he could stand it. He unbuttoned his pants and tugged them down, kicking them off the end of the bed. He wiggled out of his underwear, threw them somewhere.

He was in the glorious nude. His lean seeker's body was all taught, lean muscle. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and Hermione could see his heart beat in his neck. That wasn't all she could see. For the first time in her life, she was seeing all of a man. Nude. Perfect. Hard and long and straight, Draco smiled at her, knowing his body was glorious nude.

Hermione unbuttoned and tugged her way out of her jeans, leaving the cotton underwear in place. In a fit of the bashfuls, she slithered under the cover, drawing them up below her breasts.

What Draco had seen was enough to chase every thought out of his head. He slipped below the covers himself, crushing her body to his. His mouth met hers and he felt fire erupt in his body. An undeniable need to have her, to feel every inch of her body. Hermione was overtaken, her head swimming and she refused to fight it. Refused to deny herself anything in this moment. She accepted that what would be just would be. Hermione cast herself to the winds of destiny and the liberation was amazing.

His naked body was wrapped around her nearly-naked body. Her hands grew courage she didn't know she possessed as they boldly marched over his body. She opened her mouth to him as her hands cupped his ass. Oh, Ginny was so _right_! His arse was amazing and tight and firm and suddenly his mouth was on her breasts again. Hermione panted, beyond words now.

His thickness lay heavy against her leg. She could feel it throb with his heartbeat and without thinking, she wrapped a hand around him. She had now seen a man nude, and touched that most private of parts. All in one day.

Draco threw his head back, gasping for breath. Her hand held him strongly. It was still and he whined in the back of his throat, thrusting against her hand. That seemed to shake her and she stroked him. She moved languidly, obviously enjoying this newfound power she had, this ability to reduce Draco Malfoy to an incoherent, begging boy. It was intoxicating. Her thumb slid over his head and found it slick. Draco moaned, dragged at her panties with a hand. He pulled them down to her knees and she slid a leg out of them. Without thinking, she opened her legs to him.

Her hand moved along him with more urgency, now. Something was boiling inside of her, desperate for his touch and she was sure she would combust if he didn't touch her, all of her. Just as she was hot enough to be sure steam must be rising from under the covers, his fingers dipped inside her.

She was hot and wet and Draco closed his eyes. Her body was velvet and he needed this, knew she needed this. First one finger inside of her. She was tight and he had to go slowly, fearing he'd hurt her. She gasped once or twice and he glanced at her face to be sure it was a gasp of pleasure and not pain. Slowly, there were two fingers inside her, pumping in time with her hand. When he saw her watching his face, he with drew his hand from the covers, fingers glistening and sucked them clean. Her expression was beautiful and innocent and god, was it seductive. He pressed against her hand again and again, faster as he replaced his hand, feeling for the bright spot of pleasure that he knew would be there. He stroked her clit softly, gently, matching pace for pace. She gasped and moaned and arched her back and he gasped and moaned and arched his back.

They were climbing into whatever this was between them, jumping into head first. And it was amazing. His body was singing with pleasure. He stroked faster and faster and she was so hot and so wet, and her hand was so tight. Hermione was, at this point, totally unconscious of what her hand and body were doing. All she knew was that Draco was playing her body as a master musician might his favorite instrument. Even when she masturbated, she couldn't manage to get her body to feel like this. Perhaps it was his experience, perhaps it was the feeling of someone else's hand, but perhaps it was also because of the electricity between just them. Maybe it was because it was Draco's body and no other that she was pleasuring as he pleasured her. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. Not at that moment.

Faster and more urgent they pushed each other on. Hermione whispered Draco's name and he whispered hers. Draco came first and when the heat of him his her thigh, when she felt him sliding down her leg in a very intimate way, knowing somehow she touched him like no other, she reached her climax. It was excruciating pleasure. Her body convulsed and she was rocked, robbed of words, soundless exhalations were the only thing she could manage. He collapsed against her. His hand was still inside her, her fingers still wrapped around him as she shrank back.

They were quiet for a long time, reveling in the afterglow that comes with all first sexual encounters. Draco lazily kissed her shoulder, twitching his fingers playfully. She jumped, feeling like she'd be shocked and giggled. The enormity of what had transpired between them hadn't hit her and wouldn't fully hit her until the next morning.

Right now, all she cared about was that he was there, next to her. Their bodies were still locked in an intimate embrace. Death was held at bay for another evening. The morning would dawn, bright and cool and Hermione thought she would be better prepared to deal with the real world by then. Right now, all she needed was this bubble of happiness, of pleasure, of simplicity. It struck her how absurd that seemed. Lying naked in bed with Draco Malfoy after having her first orgasm by anyone other than her own hand was simple? What a strange, strange life she lived.

A/N: I know, I know. More mushy stuff. But there's about to be a LOT more action than romance here shortly, and Draco's a horny seventeen year old. This'll tide you pervs over and him, too. lol Thank you to the people who've recently (and in the past) put me on your author alerts and favorite stories! It absolutely makes my day!


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